Birthdays
by AmiliaPadfoot
Summary: Next gen fic. James stumbles upon something in his father's office and discovers that seeing is believing. No, not actual time travel per say...
1. A beautiful blue glow,

_**Birthdays**_

_**By: Amilia Padfoot**_

**Disclaimer: Okay, listen up, I shall say this only once. I don't own any of the characters in this story, just the idea for the story. Anything you recognise, e.g. the speech from the people in the memories and what they do, belong to J.K. Rowling. All I own is James's speech, reactions and the overall plot of the fic.**

**Summary: Next gen fic. James stumbles upon something in his father's office and discovers that seeing is believing. No, not actual time travel per say...**

**A/N: This is my – what? Sixth fan fiction? Wow. Once again I have to thank my ludicrously amazing beta ****DramionePerfected for helping me with this. ****This one's for you Drammy! **

* * *

><p><em>"Oh cheer up James, you can go over Lucas's house any old time," Ginny told her eldest son, who was sat moodily on the bottom step of the stairs.<em>

"But he really wanted me to come _today. _He said he had something really cool to show me but it was only going to last the day," James replied, frustrated that his mother didn't seem to understand what he was missing out on. Sure, Lucas had more dippy ideas than Auntie Luna, but when the day comes you could possibly witness the hatching of an illegal dragon in your best friend's kitchen, you don't tend to say no. Ginny sighed, not in the mood to have this conversation with him yet again at this time of day.

"Look, will you please just go upstairs and ask your brother and sister to come down? Your dad should be home soon." James didn't move and waited - long enough to be defiant, and yet not long enough for his mum to get mad - before he turned and stomped upstairs, muttering curses he had learned from Teddy a little too proudly under his breath.

All frustration soon evaporated at the simple sight of an open door, a door that was nearly never left open. He moved towards the door and peeked inside.

"Dad?" No response. He stepped into the office and sure enough there was no-one to be seen. "Dad? You there?" He knew he probably looked weird, calling out to an empty room, but then again, you could never know with his dad. He had learnt the hard way to be completely certain no one was around before you did something you knew you shouldn't. All too many times he had committed mischief only to find his dad had been standing behind him the whole time. He always just seemed to _know_. He whipped round, suddenly paranoid. No one was there. He let out a sigh. '_You're getting jumpy, James,'_ he thought to himself.

Then wondered why his dad would leave the door open. He'd never before. But then again, he had been very distracted lately, more than usual. Even his mum was getting concerned. Before he could ponder any further a gleaming blue light caught his eye. In the corner of the room was an old wooden cabinet. Its chestnut doors were wide open, revealing a stone basin in which the blue light was shining from; like a clam proudly presenting its pearl.

Before he knew it, he was walking around his dad's desk that was laden with disorderly papers, maps and moving diagrams. He reached the basin and peered into its shallow depths, mesmerized by the liquid. It seemed to shine like silver moonlight, and yet shift like colorless cloud. It was beautiful.

Around the edge of the basin were strange looking symbols and runes, though in the center of the symbols there was writing that he recognized as English. He could just about make out the word '_memories_'. He leaned in closer to get a better look, and instantly regretted it.

The room swirled around him, disappearing as the shining liquid sucked him in. As suddenly as the swirling started it stopped, the room, however, was not the same. In fact, James found himself standing in what had to be the dampest and dirtiest room he had ever set foot in. There was no furniture in the room except a moldy looking couch that seemed to breathe. The couch then gave a loud snore, announcing the presence of a human being. As the rather large boy turned over in his sleep James could see a head of blond under the ragged blanket. A porky arm flopped out of the blanket and dangled over the edge of the make-shift bed, a soft green glow emitting from his wrist watch.

In the center of the room, there were a couple of withered crisp packets that looked like they had been accessories in a poor attempt at a fire. James wondered where on earth he could be, as he listened to the wind rattling through the windows and the distant grumbles of thunder. Wherever he was, there seemed to be a terrible storm outside. He stared at the windows for a moment, strangely mesmerized by the water droplets splattering themselves at the dirty window pane. His thoughts were broken by a soft sigh. James turned away from the window and for the first time he noticed something on the floor in the corner of the room.

He took a cautious step towards the shape lying on the floor, then took a quick step back as the shape moved. Suddenly there were two bright green eyes staring up at him. It was a boy. A boy lying on the floor under a thin and ragged blanket that barely covered him. The boy lay on his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows, completely oblivious to James's presence. James couldn't take his eyes of the boy. He looked so familiar. He looked like his younger brother Albus and yet, he wasn't. _James was staring at his father. _How old was he? He looked about nine or ten. James kept staring, unable to get his mind around the fact that he was looking at his dad, his dad who right now was _younger_ than him.

He shook his head hardly daring to believe it. But he knew it was true as Harry had reached up and pushed his jet black hair out of his eyes, revealing his legendary scar. His hair stubbornly flopped back in to place and James, once again, marveled at how alike his brother and father looked. It was a surprise that his dad had not been arrested for using illegal cloning magic. James briefly amused himself with the idea of his dad arresting himself.

"Dad?" he asked softly, then mentally slapped himself. Of course his dad wasn't going to reply: this was a memory after all. James felt a sickening jolt as the realization hit him. He was _in_ the memory. '_memories_', that's what the basin had said. At least he could be reasonably sure that he was still in his dad's office which was reliving. Right now though, he was more troubled that this had happened; everything he was seeing now had actually _happened_. His dad had really been lying on the floor of a dirty room in the middle of a storm with only a thin blanket to keep him warm about twenty five years ago.

Before James could even ponder why this was, he was distracted by a muffled creaking noise from out-side. The noise seemed to get gradually closer. He heard what sounded like the crashing of waves and an eerie crunching sound. His heart began to beat faster as the sound turned into footsteps. Someone was coming. Closer and closer. James shivered and glanced at his dad beside him. Harry was sitting up at full attention, his eyes wide and trained on the door. The sinister sound was closing in, so close, too close.

BOOM!

James jumped as the room shook. His dad tensed beside him. It was outside. BOOM! Someone was knocking on the door, knocking to come in.

"Where's the cannon?" James wiped around to see the fat boy on the coach wide awake and fearful. _Was this his dad's cousin, Dudley? He sure was a lot thinner in the future, _James thought. There was then another loud sound, but this time coming from _inside_ the room. A huge and rather deranged looking man came skidding into the room. He was carrying a long, wired looking, black thing that James couldn't put a name to. Though the way the man was carrying it was enough to tell him it was a weapon of some kind.

"Who's there?" the man shouted. "I warn you-I'm armed!" _What a strange thing to say,_ James thought. _Of course he had arms. _Was that supposed to scare the threat away? If it was it had certainly not succeeded for with a loud _SMASH_ the door was flung off its hinges. It landed on the floor with an unceremonious thud.

In the doorway now stood a fierce looking man with wild hair and eyes that shone blacker than night. The huge man squeezed his way into the room, bent down, picked up the door as if it was nothing more than a piece of paper and put it back into its frame.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey..."

James couldn't stand it anymore. He burst into laughter, relief washing over him. Only Hagrid could break down a door, scaring everyone witless, and then ask for a cup of tea. James took deep breaths, clutching his sides. He'd finally pulled himself together when Hagrid had walked over to a terrified Dudley and told him to:

"Budge up, yeh great lump."

Seeing Dudley squeal and run to hide behind, what James figured to be his mum (who was cowering behind her husband) just made him laugh even more. He knew he shouldn't laugh when they were clearly terrified, but he couldn't help it - especially when the scene resembled that of a whale hiding behind a giraffe hiding behind a walrus. The fact that he had never heard anything good about his father's aunt and uncle didn't help his battle to compose himself. He didn't know how bad they were, but they must have been pretty bad for his dad to _never_ want to talk about them. They saw Dudley once in a while and exchanged the odd Christmas card, but his aunt and uncle were scarcely mentioned. Though his dad rarely talked about _any_ of his childhood before Hogwarts. Everyone else would look either angry or miserable when he asked them so he had stopped long ago. Fully comprehending for the first time that he was now witnessing some of the answers he seeked, he paid more attention to the memory.

"An' here's Harry! Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," Hagrid told Harry, his eyes twinkling. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes."

James smiled, remembering all the times people had said that to his dad. He would always act annoyed at hearing it said so often but everyone could tell he secretly loved it. And James couldn't blame him. He would always act annoyed at being told, yet again that he looked like his dad or he had his talent for Quidditch (or more frequently, his talent for getting into trouble) but really he couldn't help feeling slightly pleased when they did. The happy moment was interrupted by his great-uncle.

"I demand you leave at once, sir! You are breaking and entering!" James opened his mouth to tell him to shut up, memory or not, but he was saved the trouble.

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune."

James smirked as Hagrid reached over the back of the coach and grabbed the black stick out of Vernon's hands, twisted it into a knot and chucked it into the corner of the room. James's smirked widened as Vernon made a half-indignant, half-terrified sound that sounded like a mouse being stepped on. Hagrid turned back to Harry.

"Anyway- Harry a very happy birthday to yeh."

_Birthday_? It was his dad's birthday? James felt a twist of pity for his dad at the fact that he had spent his birthday in such a place. It wasn't supposed to be like this, he thought. Granted he had Hagrid there and he was great company to have on a birthday, but this wasn't right. You were supposed to have a _celebration_. A party, presents, cake, family! On all his birthdays he had been surrounded by family. He had dozens of pictures of him opening presents on his mother's lap, aunt Hermione helping him cut his cake, playing pin the tail on the hippogriff with Teddy and Albus and even Lily, his dad hugging him; telling him that he loved him. Even though he had told his dad he was far too old to be hugged he would never listen. He guessed he now knew why his dad made such a fuss, even more that the others. Though surely, his dad must have had some good birthdays - right?

"-I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."

James looked back at Hagrid in confusion. Had he missed something? He then understood as Hagrid passed his dad a squashed looking box. His dad's hands seemed to tremble slightly as he opened the box. James moved behind him so he could see inside. There was a rather sticky chocolate cake that had '_Happy Birthday Harry'_ written on it, in green icing. James couldn't help be impressed at the edible looking cake and wondered suspiciously if Hagrid, the inventor of rock-hard-rock-cakes, had actually made it. He figured Hagrid had probably taken extra care, seeing as it _was_ Harry Potter. Either way, James was glad that his dad got a cake at least.

"Who are you?" his dad asked.

"And you tell us not to be rude. _Hypocrite." _James muttered half-heartedly as Hagrid chuckled.

"True, I haven't introduced myself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts," he announced proudly.

James had to remind himself that Hagrid wasn't a teacher yet. Hagrid held out his hand and ended up shaking his dad's whole arm.

_"Better get used to that,"_ James 'whispered' to his dad, even though he couldn't hear him.

"What about tea then, eh? I'd not say to something stronger if yeh've got it mind."

James rolled his eyes affectionately. _Hagrid and his drink. _James jumped back slightly as Hagrid suddenly bent over the crisp packets and made a roaring fire. It wasn't exactly cold - well, not for him, anyway - but he wished he could feel the heat of the flickering flames. It was odd being in a memory where everything was so real that you felt as if you were actually involved, and yet you were detached from the scene, unable to feel neither cold nor warmth. He suddenly felt a bit lonely, and for a second wished one of his siblings had stumbled upon the strange memory-showing-basin too.

He forced himself to forget his gloomy thoughts and concentrate as Hagrid began to take out a copper kettle, a pack of sausages, a poker, a tea pot, several chipped mugs and a glass bottle full of an amber liquid that he took a quick drink from. James, who was far too used to Hagrid's limitless pockets to be surprise, chuckled at the awed look upon Harry's face. It was not often that his dad was surprised by things when he wasn't. He felt the reversal in rolls both amusing and unsettling.

"Don't you touch anything he gives you Dudley."

James looked up just in time to see Dudley staring wistfully at the sausages Hagrid had begun to cook before he hid it. _Like he would, _James thought, as Hagrid chuckled humorlessly.

"Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' any more, Dursley, don' worry."

James gave a snort of laughter and an approving nod as Hagrid passed some sausages to his dad. Harry looked like he had never tasted anything so wonderful in his life. _Probably hasn't, _James thought darkly, as for the first time he noticed how skinny his dad was. He was still as skinny as a pole in his time, but he looked much healthier by far than he did here. James frowned at that. They must have fed him at least! He through a dirty look at the Dursley's as he heard his dad say,

"I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."

"Aw, come on dad! He just told you!" James told his dad impatiently as Hagrid wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Call me Hagrid, everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm keeper of Keys at Hogwarts- yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course." James was about to say '_see',_ but stopped as his dad said something he had never expected.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Please review! Sorry I just cut it off like that but I have this weird 2,700-odd word limit for chapters and this seemed like the best place to leave it. Continuation should be up soon. If not many people are interested I'm just going to finish this memory which is based on the chapter 'Keeper of the keys'. Though I'm thinking of continuing this. Yea anyway, happy reviewing! <strong>_


	2. So innocent I shine,

_**A/N: Hello again! **__**Oh my, I had intended this to be up sooner! Oh well life gets in the way. **__**Well here's the continuation. Thank you to those who reviewed, put as a favorite, put on alert, etc. You guys are the best and this is for you.**_

* * *

><p><em>...As his dad said something he had never expected.<em>

"Er- no."

Hagrid looked exactly how James felt - shocked. He hadn't known? He hadn't known about _Hogwarts? How was this even possible? _

"Sorry," Harry said quickly. This shocked James even more. How was this _his_ fault? Why did his dad have to blame himself for everything all the time?

"_Sorry?" _Hagrid barked. He turned on the Dursleys and yelled at them accusingly, "It's them that should be sorry!"

Sickening dread flooded James as he too turned to glare at the Dursleys. If they hadn't told Harry about Hogwarts, what else hadn't they told him?

"I knew yeh weren't gettin' yeh letter but I never thought yeh wouldn't know about Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learnt it all?"

They had kept his letter from him! They had kept it all from him. How could they? He had a right to know! James couldn't describe the anger he now felt towards his father's relatives. He couldn't believe his dad - Harry Potter, The-boy-who-lived, savior of the Wizarding world - hadn't even known he was a wizard until he was _eleven_. The idea was just absurd and plain wrong. Surely he knew he was a wizard. _He must know._

"All what?" his dad asked, clearly eager to know, to be told what had been hidden from him his whole life.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid yelled leaping to his feet. "Now wait jus' one second! Do you mean to tell me that this boy- this boy! Knows nothin' about'- about' ANYTHING!"

"I know _some_ things, I can do, you know, maths and stuff," Harry interrupted, and James couldn't help but snicker at his dad's indignation.

"About _our_ world I mean," Hagrid elaborated with a wave of his hand. "_Your_ world. _Yer parent's world_."

"What world?"

If James didn't know better he would have said that his dad was playing dumb to get Hagrid mad as Hagrid boomed: "DURSLEY!"

Before him, a very pale Vernon Dursley was shrinking on the spot, mumbling something that sounded distinctly like 'Mimblewimble.'

"But yeh must know about yer mum and dad," Hagrid said now turning back to his dad, sounding almost pleading, "I mean they're _famous_. _You're_ famous."

"What? My- my mum and dad weren't famous, were they?" Harry asked, and for the first time in the memory James could totally relate to his dad. He had been as surprised as Harry was now when he had been told his dad was famous. Though it was probably easier for James because he had grown up seeing his dad in the papers and was constantly approached by complete strangers whenever they went out, but he had still been surprised when he had been told. His dad just seemed so _ordinary_. So normal. He was just…well, dad.

Hagrid stared at Harry, bewildered and nervous-looking as he ran his fingers through his hair and asked faintly: "Yeh don' know what yeh _are_?"

"Stop!" Vernon suddenly shouted. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!"

"Forbid?_ Forbid_!" James hissed incredulously as Hagrid glared at Vernon furiously. Who was he to forbid anything? Who was he to keep the truth from his dad? Who the hell does he think he is?

"You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from him all these years?"

James had no idea what letter Hagrid was on about, but he didn't really care, he was just glad that Hagrid was giving the pathetic excuses for humans the yelling he couldn't. How had his dad coped with living with people like this for so long?

"Kept _what_ from me?" Harry asked eagerly.

_'Just tell him already!' _James wanted to scream but he knew it was useless.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!"

Was it James' imagination or did his great-uncle sound panicked? Were they keeping the truth from his dad because they were just plain cruel or were they actually _scared_? James had to admit this made a little more sense. He snorted, contemptuously thinking, '_if they are so scared of dad finding out he's a wizard (and what? Using his magic on them?) couldn't they have tried being - oh, I don't know - __**nice**__ to him?' _His great-aunt gave a dramatic gasp of horror.

"Ah go boil yer heads, both of yeh. Harry- yer a wizard" There was a painful silence, then: "I'm a _what_?"

_Nice reaction dad, _James thought, sniggering a little.

"A wizard, o' course," Hagrid replied simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He sat back down on the sofa, which groaned under his weight. "An' a thumpin' good 'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."

"Finally," James grumbled as Harry held out his hand to received his letter at last. As James watched his dad open the letter and begin to read it, he contemplated what Hagrid had said: 'With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be?_' _

_Why do people always assume that just because your parents were talented that you, by association, would be too?_ he thought bitterly. When he was younger, he had fretted about living up to his dad, the famous Harry Potter, especially when he was just about to go to Hogwarts. Everyone expected him to be just as good, just as talented.

The pressure had really gotten to him. But as quickly as it had taken the pressure to build up inside him, it had evaporated when his dad had looked him in the eyes and told him; '_I don't expect you to live up to **anybody**. __You just have to be yourself.__ We will love you no matter what.' _He had never fretted much after that. Had his dad also worried about living up to _his_ parents? James wondered how much of the advice his dad had given him, had been from personal experience. How much of it was his dad simply saying what he wished someone had told _him_ when he was younger?

He then heard his dad ask, "What does it mean, await my owl?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," Hagrid said suddenly, clapping a hand to his forehead. He then pulled a rather ruffled-looking owl from another coat pocket, along with a long quill, and a roll of parchment. Hagrid stuck his tongue between his teeth, deep in concentration as he scribbled a note. Before James could bend over to get a look, Hagrid had rolled up the parchment and had given it to the owl. Hagrid moved over the window and released the bird into the night. As Hagrid came back and sat down, James briefly wondered why his dad looked so shocked. He then remembered his dad probably hadn't seen owls used like that before - in fact, had he even seen an _owl_, let alone one that came out of a _pocket_ and set off the deliver a _letter_?

"Where was I?" Hagrid asked as Vernon chose that moment to speak,

"He's not going."

James gave a barley suppressed snort at the fact this man truly thought he was going to stop Harry Potter going to Hogwarts.

"I'd like ter see a great muggle like you stop him."

'_Exactly,_' James thought as his dad asked what a muggle was. It was still a novelty to him seeing his dad so clueless about the magical world.

"It's what we call nonmagic folk like them," Hagrid explained before adding, "An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

"_Literally," _James muttered.

"We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of him! Wizard indeed!"

"'Stamp it out!' What the hell do you mean by that?" James yelled. At the same time Harry cried out: "You _knew_? You _knew _I'm a — a wizard?"

"Knew!" his great-aunt shrieked suddenly, speaking for the first time and what James hoped would be the last. "_Knew_! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was?"

"My grandma was _not_ dratted!" James yelled over her as she continued,

"-got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that — that _school _— and came home every holiday with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was — a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!" She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on, "Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as — as —_abnormal _— and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

James clenched his fists into balls, shaking with repressed anger. How dare she! Not only had they insulted his dad but his dad's _mother_, and then gone on to talk about his parents death in such a way. How dare she talk about such a thing so –_callously. _He glanced at his dad who had gone as white as a sheet.

"Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"

James mouth fell open, completely speechless. _Car crash?_ He couldn't believe it. He honestly couldn't understand how they could have lied to his dad about such a thing. Nor could he begin to imagine how his dad must feel; to have the death of his parents told to him in such an uncaring and malicious way, after being lied to for so long. Nobody should have to find out like that. He was witnessing his dad's whole world being turned upside down in one night- in one memory. Everything he had ever known turning out to be one lie after another; one more thing that had been kept from him. James had conflicting urges to hex the hell out of the Dursleys and to run to his dad. To be told none of this had happened - that he had always know he was a wizard all along and his aunt and uncle had treated him like a second son. But he knew the latter was nothing more than wishful thinking, pointless and child-like. The former however...

"CAR CRASH!" Hagrid roared, not suppressing his anger in the slightest. He jumped up from the couch, his face murderous. The Dursleys cowered back from his anger as he continued, "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowin' his own story when every kid in our world knows his name!"

James winced sympathetically at that. It is very unnerving having everyone staring at you and knowing your name just from the way you look or because they see you with your family. It is quite tiring, trying to introduce yourself to someone before they can say 'bloody hell, you're...' and then proceed to tell you your own name. It was even worse now for his dad, but Harry was older now and could handle it.

"But why? What happened?" Harry asked suddenly, yearning to know the truth.

"Tell him Hagrid!" James begged, hating to see his dad not knowing his own story any longer than he already had.

All the anger rained from Hagrid's face, replaced by a pale anxious look.

"I never expected this," he began, his voice barley a whisper. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harry, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh — but someone's gotta — yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'."

James winced again. That would defiantly be a bad thing. If the way everyone looked at his dad now was anything to judge by, his dad would have been terrified, having everyone staring at him and not knowing why. He was grateful to his dad for telling him at least a watered down version of why he, his Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron were so famous. They had left out most the detail, only giving the basic facts and a promise to go into greater detail when he was older.

Nevertheless, he was glad he hadn't gone to Hogwarts not knowing and he wondered whether this was the reason why his dad had told him so much. He had been kept in the dark most his life, he knew what it was like and he hadn't wanted the same for his children. Had this simple fact outweighed the urge to shield his kids for knowing about the wars and the terror that had come with it? The urge to keep them away from anything even remotely connected to them? Had his dad perhaps remembered this very moment, when he decided to tell James a bit about why he was so famous?

He was slightly surprised at the sudden insight he now had into his father's mind after witnessing a little of his past. _He decided to once again to pay attention and to absorb everything as Hagrid threw the Dursleys a dirty look, took a deep breath and began. _

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry I cut it off again! I doubt I could call this a cliffy as most of us know what Hagrid is gonna say next anyways but I really didn't realise how long this chapter was, I only intended it to be two chapters at least! Oh well it will be finished in the next chapter which should be up real soon, so stay um...tuned? Yea, um...Please review! I'd love to know if anyone's interested in this or not. Please no comments on the ending of chapters because I already know that's bad. Thank you! –Ami <strong>

Headoverheels14 DramionePerfected PeverellStone DoctorEleven sarahpotter42

Chrissy227 OMG-Bannana The Goddess Of War Athena witty kitty01 xoalisonx34

lilyplusjamesistotallove – you guys are very cool!

l


	3. Concealing the horror within,

**A/N: Hey! Whether you see this as chapter three or the third part of chapter one is up to you. Thank you to those who reviewed and/or favorited put on alert/etc. Hope you enjoy! **

* * *

><p><em>Hagrid threw the Dursley's a dirty look, took a deep breath and began.<em>

"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh — mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it…" Hagrid trailed off and sat back down. There was a silence as he stared into the fire, lost in thought before starting again,

"It begins, I suppose, with — with a person called — but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows —"

"Oh _Hagrid_. Of course he doesn't know," James sighed, a little impatient as his dad prompted,

"Who?"

"Well — I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

_That's certainly true,_ James thought, _even now people are uneasy about saying it. _

"Fear of a name only increases the fear of the thing itself," James automatically quoted his dad's persistent saying.

"Why not?"

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went…bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse."

_Wow_, James thought. He knew Voldemort was bad but hearing it like that made it seem more real to him somehow. Even though he knew Voldemort was long gone, the way Hagrid was talking about him made him shiver slightly.

"His name was…" Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.

"Voldemort," James supplied, if only to convince himself he wasn't afraid. Hearing himself say the name out loud clearly, relaxed him slightly. He remembered his dad once saying to him, that he hoped his Bogart wasn't a dementor. He had asked his dad why it would be, and Harry had replied that what James seemed to fear most was fear itself. He had no idea what his dad had meant, but he was sure he had heard a slight hint of pride in his dad's voice.

"Could you write it down?" Harry suggested, bringing James out of his reminiscence.

"Nah — can't spell it. All right —_Voldemort_."

James wasn't entirely surprised that Hagrid had said the name; Harry was just about the only person who could get Hagrid to say it. James knew Hagrid still tended to call him 'you-know-who', but when his dad was present Hagrid would always force himself to say Voldemort. Hagrid never really cares what people think of him, but with his dad it was different. He would never want Harry to think any less of him.

Hagrid shuddered. "Don' make me say it again."

"He will," James smirked, unable to stop himself.

"Anyway, this — this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too — some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches… terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him — an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway."

"No, not then," James muttered, remembering learning about the battle of Hogwarts. He was told that the three years of the second war did far more damage than the eleven of the first. Shuddering, he thought, '_how could it be __**worse**__ than Hagrid just described?'_ He was once again grateful that he didn't have to grow up during a war - let alone be part of it, like most his elder family. He couldn't imagine living in a world where no-one could trust anybody, where you could succumb to fear and mistrust your closest of friends.

"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before… probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side."

James nodded his approval at that.

"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em… maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an' — an' —"

James bowed his head sadly in respect and remembrance for his grandparents, who he never had the chance to meet. Hagrid pulled out a spotted handkerchief and blew his nose loudly into it.

"Sorry," he sniffed. "But it's that sad — knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find —"

James smiled sadly. He wished he could have met them, but he knew it was nothing on how his dad felt.

"Anyway, You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then — an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing."

James leaned in closer, paying rapt attention to everything Hagrid was saying. He had, of course, heard the watered-down version of what happened that night, but here was his chance to know more, to _really_ understand what happened.

"— he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh — took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even — but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts-"

James looked down again at the mention of his grandmother's brothers, Fabian and Gideon. They were even more relatives he would never get the chance to meet because of the war - because of Voldemort.

"— an' you was only a baby, an' you lived."

James never fully appreciated everything his dad had gone through until now. He didn't know how to feel. He had conflicting feelings. He was in awe of his dad surviving as a baby, but he was also saddened and infuriated at the fact that Harry had diced with death as a mere baby. For the first time in several years, he felt like he could cry. Why had so many people had to suffer? Why had his dad had to suffer? Why? What was the point to it all? _Was_ there a point? He understood that there was sometimes a reason to fight, a cause to fight _for_, and with that there was sometimes suffering, sacrifice. But this was wrong, this was pointless. His dad had been a _baby_, a child, an innocent bystander to a cruel world. He glanced at the young memory of his father and he saw the pain in his eyes. He was remembering the fateful night, no doubt. James wanted nothing more than to go over to his dad, to hold him, comfort him.

"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot…." Hagrid told Harry softly, watching him with sad eyes.

Like his dad, James jumped as Vernon spoke up suddenly, reminding them of his presence.

"Load of old tosh**," **he growled, fists clenched, glaring at Hagrid. James glared right back at him. Why did this man have to keep butting in? "Now, you listen here, boy," he snarled, turning on Harry. "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured-"

"_What!_" James yelled. They hadn't, had they? They wouldn't. Sickening dread flooded him at the very thought. His dad hadn't been abused had he? He hadn't. He couldn't have been. James couldn't believe it. He felt like he'd been winded. How could his dad have grown up like this? Thinking that he was a freak, that his _gift_ was nothing more than something to be 'cured', like an illness or a mental disorder. What had they done to him? How much damage had they actually caused? How had his dad grown up to become like he was now? How was he not bitter? How could he even stand seeing Dudley, let alone be decent towards him? All these questions swam around his head. He felt dizzy, confused, enraged and sickened. So many emotions were swirling around inside him, pulsing through his veins. He took deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He forced himself to pay attention to the memory. He needed answers.

"-all this about your parents, well, they were weirdo's, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion-"

"How dare you! How dare you, you vile, horrid man!" James shouted at the memory of his great-uncle, not giving a damn if he could hear him or not. He couldn't keep it in anymore. He had to express his emotion in some way or he'd explode, be sick or burst into tears - and in truth, he was on the brink of doing all three. "The worlds better off without out _you_! How dare you treat him like this! How could you be so twisted! How- how-" he stammered, emotion overwhelming him. He wasn't usually emotional in any way: that was more Lily's thing (being a girl) and Albus had always been the more empathetic one. Then again, he had never expected to walk into his dad's office, to find out how his dad had been nearly killed as a baby by a psychopath and left with people who didn't love him, despised him in fact, and possibly been abused.

He had been so busy shouting he had hardly heard the rest of Vernon's rant,

"— just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end -"

He wanted to start shouting again but at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat and pointed it at Vernon like a sword.

"I'm warning you, Dursley — I'm warning you — one more word…" Hagrid threatened, his voice soft and dangerous. Vernon flattened himself against the wall, trembling slightly and fell silent.

"That's better," Hagrid said, and James smirked, glad that someone had shut him up. He didn't know how much more he could have taken. The tight knots in his stomach seemed to lessen slightly, but not entirely. Breathing heavily Hagrid sat back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor. Harry meanwhile, completely unfazed by his uncle's outburst, asked,

"But what happened to Vol-, sorry — I mean, You-Know-Who?"

If James hadn't been so appalled he would have paid his dad's question more attention. How could his dad be so calm about everything his uncle had said to him? James felt even sicker as he realized his dad was simply used to it.

"Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see… he was gettin' more an' more powerful — why'd he go? Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die."

James sighed, knowing this was true.

"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Harry. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on — _I _dunno what it was, no-one does — but somethin' about you stumped him, all right." Hagrid finished, looking at Harry with the utmost warmth and respect, a look Hagrid still had for him. James couldn't help but feel proud of his father too, and of everything he'd done.

He vowed he would never be annoyed at how frustrating it was to have a famous dad; he would never again resent his dad for it. After all, Harry had never asked for the respect of the Wizarding world, nor to become stalked by it, either. James didn't want his dad to feel guilty for the hassle his fame brought because it wasn't his fault. After everything his dad had been through, James though he could put up with being stared at and never having the chance to introduce himself. How could he ever complain to his dad again after the way Harry was forced to grow up? To go so suddenly from everyone hating you to everyone respecting you and expecting you to _save_ them? James stopped his pondering as for the second time his dad said something he hadn't expected.

"Hagrid, I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a wizard."

James gaped at him, before chuckling along with Hagrid. Harry Potter, not a wizard? The very notion was ludicrous, though James was secretly glad for the more light-hearted, innocent moment. It helped lift the thick emotion that had nearly suffocated him. He smiled to himself as Hagrid asked,

"Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?"

Harry looked into the fire, a faraway look in his eyes, before looking back at Hagrid, smiling. Hagrid positively beamed at him.

"See?" said Hagrid. "Harry Potter, not a wizard — you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."

"You sure you're not a seer Hagrid?" James chuckled to himself before, once again, his great-uncle ruined the happy mood.

"Haven't I told you he's not going?" Vernon hissed. "He's going to Stonewall High and he'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and he needs all sorts of rubbish — spell books and wands and —"

"If he wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop him," Hagrid growled, cutting him off. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's son goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. His name's been down ever since he was born. "

"You tell him, Hagrid!" James cheered.

"He's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and he won't know himself. He'll be with youngsters of his own sort, fer a change, an' he'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had, Albus Dumbled—"

"**I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!" **Vernon yelled.

James grinned apprehensively, he knew (from experience and from his dad) of Hagrid's deep loyalty towards the old headmaster. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, "NEVER —" he thundered, "— INSULT — ALBUS — DUMBLEDORE — IN — FRONT — OF — ME!" He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley — there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back, James saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers.

James just stood there, momentarily speechless before bursting into uproarious laughter. He doubled over, tears rolling down his cheeks as he laughed. Every bitter emotion that had eaten away at him, since he had started learning more about his dad's childhood, seemed to wash away with the tears of laughter. He grinned widely as Vernon roared and pulled Petunia and Dudley into the other room. After casting one last terrified look at Hagrid he slammed the door behind him.

"Cowards!" James jeered after them.

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," Hagrid said regretfully behind him, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."

That made James laugh even more and he sincerely wished he could have seen the real event in person. He got up off the floor as Hagrid spoke again.

"Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he mumbled sheepishly . "I'm — er — not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff — one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job."

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" Harry asked.

"Mum was right, Al does get his curiosity from you," James muttered as Hagrid explained rather reluctantly,

"Oh, well — I was at Hogwarts meself but I — er — got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."

"Why were you expelled?"

_"Good luck there, dad." _James never did find out why Hagrid was expelled; just that his dad, aunt and uncle had helped exonerate him. Every time he had asked, Hagrid had rather poorly changed the subject.

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid loudly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that."

_Some things never change_, James thought, smiling fondly at one of his favorite teachers.

Hagrid then took off his thick black coat and threw it to Harry while commenting casually,

"You can kip under that, Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o-"

But James never heard what Hagrid had, for the walls seemed to shift and the room liquefied. The shining liquid swirled around him as the memory changed.

* * *

><p><strong>No! I went over the limit! Oh well. Yea I know, I'm weird. Next memory coming soon! Please review, any encouragement would be awesome! Thank you to anyone who's reading this and I hope you're enjoying it! –Ami x<strong>

**P.S:- time to name and shame!**

Headoverheels14, DramionePerfected, PeverellStone, DoctorEleven, sarahpotter42

Chrissy227,OMG-Bannana,The Goddess Of War Athena,witty kitty01,xoalisonx34

lilyplusjamesistotallove,Melodiux, These Guilty Pleasures, Morning Lilies, Ana di Angelo, brenluvshp,

ConcreteGirl25, HPCandel17, qwerty905, readingismylife16, thesnarkylibrarian, vintage90vinyl, Thanatos1320,

junebug2, ella-spella, crazywolf like chicken,Vitzy, pikful, Daziy is ., LeeLee411 -thanks

guys ;-) Virtual cookies for all!


	4. Too late now,

**A/N: I'm back! And here is chapter four or two depending on how you see it. Thanks again for anyone who reviewed! ****Oh my Merlin, 27 reviews! Eeek! Thank you everyone who reviewed! I'm proud to announce that this is the most reviews I have had for any of my fics! This chaps dedicated to my 23****rd**** reviewer, Alex, who coincidentally is my B.F. Heya! ;-) **

**Anyway if you have **_**any**_** doubt that I don't own Harry Potter kindly see the Disclaimer on the first chapter. **

* * *

><p><em>The shining liquid swirled around him as the memory changed.<em>

James found himself in the complete antithesis of the room before; he was nearly blinded by the intensity of the sparkling kitchen surfaces. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the cleanliness of the pale blue kitchen - not a thing seemed out of place, everything gleaming with polish. James wouldn't be surprised to find the kitchen had been pulled straight from a showroom. In his opinion, this room was far worse than the one he had originally been in. He was sure that whoever was responsible for such extreme levels of sanitation, would scream at the sight of his bedroom.

In the middle of the room was a table where his great-aunt, great-uncle, his dad and his dad's cousin sat. James couldn't help but feel sorry for Dudley's chair as his bottom drooped over either side, worried that the chair might actually be consumed by the fat. James looked away from Dudley and forced himself not to stare at the food on the table. His stomach gave a deafening growl: apparently, being in a memory didn't stop you from feeling hunger. He looked at the clock instead - seven o'clock - then at the calendar underneath. Underneath a glossy picture of 'Majorca', the word _**July**_ was written . _'July?', _James thought. How long had it been since the last memory?

He glanced at his dad, who was eating some toast so slowly it was as if savoring every mouthful. He definitely looked older than in the previous memory, though his hair was just as messy as usual. His eyes, James noticed, had a slightly haunted look to them. They made him wonder what had happened to his dad in between this memory and the last. He looked back at the calendar - **1992**. James did a double take. Even though he knew the memory was of the past, it was just so surreal to see it written like that. So his dad was…what, twelve? He looked closer at the calendar and followed the dates, trying to find one that hadn't been crossed off or ticked. He had got to the 29th when he heard an argument break out across the table. To be honest, James hadn't been paying much attention to what Vernon had been saying as he entered the memory, but at the sound of his raised voice, James tuned into the argument.

"Third time this week!" Vernon roared across the table. "If you can't control that owl, it'll have to go!"

So his dad had, had an owl, then? James wondered why he didn't have one now; owls _did_ live for a very long time, after all.

"She's _bored,_" his dad reasoned. "She's used to flying around outside. If I could just let her out at night —"

"Why can't you let her out at night?" James asked furiously, not really expecting an answer. _First they make dad miserable, now his owl, too?_

"Do I look stupid?" Vernon snarled, a bit of fried egg dangling from his bushy mustache.

'_I'm not going to even __**bother**__ answering that,' _James muttered mentally, still seething on the owl's behalf.

"I know what'll happen if that owl's let out," his great-uncle continued while exchanging dark looks with his great-aunt.

"Oh yes, the world will end wont it?" James threw up his hands dramatically before turning to his dad and saying in a mock serious tone, "Whatever you do dad, don't let your owl out! It could be end of the world as we know it!" He was starting to sound slightly hysterical, and he took a calming breath. _'These memories aren't good for my mental health,' _he thought, as Dudley gave a loud sickening belch, cutting of his dad's counter argument.

"I want more bacon," Dudley demanded suddenly and James raised an eye-brow. How on earth did his dad's cousin get away with such behavior? Instead of telling him to mind his manners Petunia turned to her son with misty eyes and told him there was more in the frying pan.

"We must build you up while we've got the chance...I don't like the sound of that school food."

James gaped at her, and then looked from Dudley - who was almost as wide as he was tall - to his dad, who looked as if he'd disappear if he turned sideways. Was this woman senile or just plain blind? If anyone needed 'building up', it was her nephew, _not_ her son. He shook his head at the woman's foolishness as Vernon grunted:

"Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when _I _was at Smeltings. Dudley gets enough, don't you, son?" He turned to Dudley for confirmation who grinned in return and turned to Harry.

"Pass the frying pan."

"You've forgotten the magic word," Harry replied irritably. '_At least someone was trying to teach him manners,' _James thought. Dudley, far from grateful, suddenly gasped and fell off his chair and on to the floor with a crash, taking the chair down with him. Petunia gave a small scream and clapped her hands over her mouth. Vernon leaped to his feet, veins throbbing in his temples. '_Wow,' _James mused, perplexed. '_what's with the reaction? Had something bad happened?' _He didn't have reason to think so, as his dad looked only slightly startled and a bit annoyed. Then again, his dad rarely over-reacts to anything. He was always calm, no matter what happened, so James couldn't tell if the Dursley's were being their usual dramatic selves, or something bad had happened and his dad was just taking it better than everyone else.

"I meant 'please'!" Harry said quickly. "I didn't mean —" James rolled his eyes, realizing what they had reacted so badly to. _'The magic word? Really?'_

"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU**," **Vernon thundered, spraying spit over the table, "ABOUT SAYING THE 'M' WORD IN OUR HOUSE?"

"It's not a swear word, you idiot," James spat. Behind him, Petunia was trying, and failing, to pull her son to his feet again.

"But I-", Harry tried to defend himself, but could scarcely be heard over Vernon's roar.

"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY!" Vernon yelled, while pounding the table with his fist.

"He didn't threaten him!" James yelled incredulously at the memory figure, as his dad tried yet again to defend himself.

"I just-"

"I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!"

"Abnormality? Abnormality!" James hissed, clenching and un-clenching his fists at his sides. If anyone was abnormal, it was his great-uncle. He had tried so hard to be normal that he'd consequently became the thing he feared most, _not_ normal.

His dad just stared at his purple-faced uncle and his pale aunt before muttering,

"All right, _all right..._"

Vernon sat back down again with a humph. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Harry, watching him through the corners of his beady eyes as if he was about to turn into a mass murder at any second. James rolled his eyes; his dad just seemed to stare off into the distance, as if far too used to his Uncle's behavior to care. _I wonder what he's thinking about_, James thought. Then he knew, as he recognized the far of wistful look all too well. He was thinking of Hogwarts. James too let his mind wonder as he thought of his school's many secret passage ways, constant feasts, the Gryffindor common room where many a prank was planned and indeed administered... he sighed wistfully, wishing he was there now. He was then brought sharply out of his own memories as Vernon cleared his throat.

"Now, as we all know, today is a very important day," he began importantly.

James saw his dad's head shoot up - a look of pure disbelief on his face, and yet a glint of hope in his eyes. James winced, somehow knowing that his father's hopes were going to be crushed. _Why was this an important day to dad, though?_

"This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career."

James, not particularly caring about why it was important for his great-uncle, looked at his dad. Harry had gone back to his food, all hope vanished from his eyes, replaced by a shadow of bitterness. He looked so _miserable, _and that, _that_ James cared about.

"I think we should run through the schedule one more time."

James turned back to his great uncle at that. _Schedule_? They had _schedules_? Though in the Potter/Weasley clan they occasionally had very strict schedules too. They were generally _winging it _and hoping for the best.

"We should all be in position at eight o'clock. Petunia, you will be —?"

"In the lounge," Petunia answered promptly, "waiting to welcome them graciously to our home."

"Good, good. And Dudley?" Vernon turned to his son, who was once again, after many struggles, seated.

"I'll be waiting to open the door." Dudley put on a simpering smile that made James feel thoroughly repulsed. "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

_They're planning what to say as well? Merlin, this family is sad_, thought James.

"They'll love him!" Petunia cried. James clapped a hand over his mouth; sure he was going to be sick. Vernon nodded his approval.

"Excellent, Dudley."

James went from feeling nauseous to annoyance so fast he felt he might actually vomit as Vernon rounded on his dad and sneered,

"And _you_?"

"You leave him alone," James growled. The hatred he was feeling towards his great-uncle intensified as his dad dully responded,

"I'll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I'm not there." He said it so tonelessly, so _indifferently. _James knew beyond doubt that his dad was used to this kind of treatment, and he hated it. He truly couldn't stand seeing his dad like this, as if he'd had all happiness sucked out of him. The boy he was looking at now was nothing like the man he knew, his _dad_. He was cheerful, and hopeful and certainly not pretending he didn't exist. James shuddered violently at the thought of his dad not existing.

"Exactly," Vernon told Harry nastily. James snapped himself out of his gloomy thoughts - though seeing his father treated like this was truly depressing, he'd rather be angry - though it was far more satisfying, it didn't get rid of the hollow feeling inside him that had been growing, ever since he had seen his dad wrapped up in a ragged blanket on the floor. "I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight fifteen —"

"I'll announce dinner," Petunia jumped in. It was clear they had practiced this more than once.

"And, Dudley, you'll say —"

"May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?" simpered Dudley, offering his fat arm out to an invisible woman.

"My perfect little gentleman!" Petunia sniffed, and James rolled his eyes again.

"And _you_?" Vernon turned on his dad again, viciously.

"I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I'm not there."

James sighed at his dad's monotone response. Why was it like this? He doubted his dad even wanted to be part of the dinner party at all, but really - why was he being excluded like _this_, as if he was merely an outsider - not even that, but an _intruder_? James just couldn't understand. He'd seen in the last memory that they hated his dad, that they saw him as a freak and a burden. He knew they were scared of his magic. Was that it? Was his dad being secluded merely because he was different from them? Because he was a wizard? Or because they wanted to keep him as down trodden as possible, as not to make him think he had any hope of over powering them, using his magic on them? Was it _really_ that hard to treat him like an equal, a part of their family? He knew that if anything were to happen to Dudley, Harry would take any kids he had in within a heartbeat and he would have treated them as his own. He knew his dad wasn't the only one who would, _but these_, '_people_' _they- they were just monsters_, James decided.

"Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?"

_What? Haven't planned the complements yet? _James thought sarcastically.

"Vernon tells me you're a _wonderful _golfer, Mr. Mason. . . . _Do _tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs. Mason. . . ." she suggested.

"Perfect . . . Dudley?"

"How about — 'we had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr. Mason, and _I _wrote about _you._'"

James couldn't stop himself gagging as Petunia burst into tears and hugged her son… well, tried to: her arms could barely stretch around his shoulders. He turned away from them, thankful that his own mother never acted like this, and he saw his dad duck under the table, trying to conceal his laughter. James spirits soared at this, glad to see that his dad's sense of humor hadn't been sucked out of him. His only wish was that his dad didn't have to hide it. He looked back at the Dursley's and didn't know whether to be sorrier for his dad or the people coming over. He settled on his dad as Vernon snapped,

"And you, boy?"

Harry emerged from under that table, trying to keep a smile off his face.

"I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I'm not there."

"Too right, you will," Vernon snapped. "The Mason's don't know anything about you and it's going to stay that way."

James was really shocked by this - how could he not tell people about his own nephew? Who, for a few god forsaken hours, will be in the same _house_ as them? Sickeningly he was getting used to the way his dad's relatives had treated him.

"When dinner's over, you take Mrs. Mason back to the lounge for coffee, Petunia, and I'll bring the subject around to drills. With any luck, I'll have the deal signed and sealed before the news at ten. We'll be shopping for a summer home in Majorca this time tomorrow."

James smiled a little at this. They'd have to take his dad too, right? He knew his dad would be treated just the same there but still, he might be able to have some fun.

"Right — I'm off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me. And you," he snarled, looking at Harry. "You stay out of your aunt's way while she's cleaning."

James glared at his great-uncle, wishing to Godric he could hex him into next week for treating his dad like dirt.

Harry simply popped the remainder of the toast into his mouth, and got up to leave. James was forced to stand still as the walls began to fade around him_. What was he supposed to do now? Was the memory over or could he move from room to room? _Not wanting to stay in a room that was gradually disappearing, he ran after his dad. He followed him out into a garden and across the lawn.

Just like the kitchen, the garden looked perfect. There wasn't a twig out of place and every hedge was trimmed to sickening symmetry. He watched as the twelve-year-old image of his dad sat on a garden bench that looked like it had been painted and polished several times that day. Though the sun was blazing up ahead, James could not feel it's warmth on his back and again he felt isolated from the scene. However, this minor disappointment was nothing to what he felt when he heard his dad singing softly under his breath: _"Happy birthday to me . . . happy birthday to me . . ."_

_No wonder he's so depressed_, thought James, remembering the look of hope in his dads eyes. He felt a fresh surge of animosity towards the Dursley's for them making a stupid dinner party more important than their own nephew's birthday. Couldn't they have arranged it for another time? They could have had this dinner party any old-time, but a birthday... James thoughts trailed of as it hit him like a tonne of bricks. He felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach as self-disgust washed over him. His own thought came back to haunt him: _'They could have a dinner party any old-time...'_ It swirled through his mind, repeating itself over and over, gradually turning into his mother's voice: _'They could have a dinner party any old time...' '...You can go over Lucas's house any old time'_.

Had he, James, not considered going over to his friend's house more important than spending time with his dad? He could, as his mum had said, go over and see his friend anytime, where he _couldn't _just see his dad any old time, especially when he was at Hogwarts. He saw Lucas every day at school, and frequently over the holidays, but between work, both at home and the ministry, he rarely saw his dad. It wasn't normally that bad - far from it in fact - but so far this summer James had seen him a grand total of _five_ times. The last time lasting all of a couple of minutes while he collected something from his office and left just as suddenly as he came. James had resented his dad at first, thinking it wasn't his fault if he didn't want to come home. But the first time James saw him during the holiday he had seen the pure joy on his dad's face, as he pulled him into a bone crushing hug that rivaled Hagrid's, and as he had left he had nothing but pain in his eyes; pain and longing as he had closed the door behind him, the last time James had seen him. James had known then that he was missing them just as much and that the lack of time together was not by choice.

_'Though how many times __**did**__ you get to see a Dragon hatch?'_ a part of his mind asked, trying to justify his actions._ 'And how many times do get to see your dad's memories?'_ a new voice in his head retorted. What he worried about most though was, '_am I as bad as the Dursley's?'_ Would his mum tell his dad of his desire to go over his friend's house, knowing that his dad was going to be home for the fifth time in over a month? Would his dad be hurt? Would he remember the way the Dursley's had shunned him aside and shrug, thinking that it was just the way it was? He felt sick at the very thought, that _he_ would be the one to cause that hurt.

He gazed at the twelve-year-old slumped on the garden bench, wishing he would turn into his adult self so he could tell his dad how sorry he was, that he would love nothing better than to spend time with him. He was close to throwing his arm around the memory form of his dad, but he stopped mid movement as his dad sat bolt-upright, looking straight at him. James's heart gave a jolt and began to beat like a drum as a thought hit him: _Can he see me? _

* * *

><p><strong>Please review! Sorry for the choppiness that has just occurred to me, though I won't apologize for the last chap as it was the end of a memory. Anyway hope you enjoyed none the less. <strong>

**P.S I baked muffins this time!**

Headoverheels14, DramionePerfected, PeverellStone, DoctorEleven, sarahpotter42

Chrissy227,OMG-Bannana,The Goddess Of War Athena,witty kitty01,xoalisonx34

lilyplusjamesistotallove,Melodiux, These Guilty Pleasures, Morning Lilies, Ana di Angelo, brenluvshp,

ConcreteGirl25, HPCandel17, qwerty905, readingismylife16, thesnarkylibrarian, vintage90vinyl, Thanatos1320,

junebug2, ella-spella, crazywolf like chicken,Vitzy, pikful, Daziy is ., LeeLee411,

deanine, minatochan145, Bahzell, SpencerReidFan89, NarniaLover303, PrincessSkywalkerOrgana, Alex,

AmyRose512, raincaster, Aggie Holmes, they call me Snow White, yukikiralacus, lookouttroublesabout,

taniacecilia, Silente21, Lily Alice Cullen Potter, wingedmoon5, Bella-chan-93, , amber-chick,

Sapphire1022, Lady Canu, E., anime-fan-402, Mystical Magician, Guida Potter,

Thanks guys! Let me know if I missed ya!


	5. Let the journey begin

**A/N: Heya everybody! Here is chapter five! Sorry about the late update. Got a little sidetracked with Egg Plant, (No I don't mean I was engulfed by a sudden uprising of vegetables in my kitchen and couldn't get to my laptop to update) it's a fic and so is The Better Man and Wiping down the doors, which are my other excuses and one is slightly related to this anyway so, ha! Also my **_**other**_** exude is I'm trying to get 'Why aren't you talking to him?' going again. Does anyone even still remember that? (Yes I know 'excuses' sounds a lot like 'shameless advertising' right now, doesn't it?) Anyway, we're still on the second memory. Thanks again for anyone who reviewed, 53! WOW! It means so much to me! **

**The Disclaimer is on the first chapter. I'm trying to stick as close to the book as possible without copying it word for word. Hope I'm doing so! Sorry about the long A/N, which I just made longer by apologizing for said A/N. **

* * *

><p><em>...as a thought hit him: Can he see me?<em>

He pushed the thought aside, knowing it was ridiculous, and yet as he turned around he saw that there was nothing behind him but a hedge. He was about to turn back with renewed hope before a glimmer of light green caught his eye. James did a double take and stared in complete shock at the hedge. There were _eyes_ in the hedge, two great big eyes! He heard his dad jump up behind him and he turned back, groaning as he heard Dudley's voice float across the lawn.

"I know what day it is," Dudley said in an annoying sing-song voice as he came up to Harry, waddling slightly.

"What?" Harry asked distractedly, not taking his eyes off the hedge. James couldn't blame him. He was just as intrigued by the mysterious eyes as his dad was. He looked back to the hedge quickly but the eyes were nowhere to be seen. _Strange_.

"I know what day it is," Dudley repeated, coming right up to them.

"Well done," said Harry. "So you've finally learned the days of the week."

James sniggered at that. One of the things he loved most about his dad was his witty retorts. His uncle Ron often said he had inherited Harry's insulting ability, and he and his dad used to try to outdo one another, with the verbal insulting matches always ending up either with them in a pile of giggling mass on the floor or his mum telling them to shut up. Either way, it was something special they had between them, not even invaded by his siblings. It was their thing and James longed for those times to come back. If only he wasn't away on so many missions lately...

"Today's your _birthday,_" Dudley sneered. "How come you haven't got any cards? Haven't you even got friends at that freak place?"

"Of course he has!" James huffed, the eyes now completely forgotten. _What did he mean by no cards though?, _he wondered. He knew his dad had plenty of friends at school and Ron and Hermione would never forget his birthday. They were far too close for that.

"Better not let your mum hear you talking about my school," Harry replied coolly.

James was a little concerned that he hadn't denied his cousin's taunt. Dudley hitched up his trousers that were slipping down his fat bottom and asked suspiciously,

"Why're you staring at the hedge?"

"I'm trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on fire," Harry told him as casually as though commenting on the weather. James grinned widely at the look of sheer panic on Dudley's face as he stumbled backwards. _'Go on dad!'_

"You c-can't" Dudley stuttered, clearly frightened "Dad told you you're not to do m-magic — he said he'll chuck you out of the house — and you haven't got anywhere else to go — you haven't got any _friends _to take you —" And James knew at once that Dudley had struck a nerve as he saw his dad's eyes flash and he turned on Dudley,

"_Jiggery pokery_!" he shouted in a fierce voice "_Hocus pocus _— _squiggly wiggly _—"

James doubled over, laughing fit to burst. That was exactly what he needed to get out of the depression he'd been feeling for most the memory. He got up, slowly wiping a tear from his eye. _Merlin's beard, dad, but you __**are **__brilliant sometimes, _he thought as he heard Dudley wailing as he ran across the lawn and back to the house.

"_MUUUUUUM! _He's doing you know what!"

_How old is this kid? _James wondered, shaking his head. He watched as his dad sighed, then walked past him and back towards the kitchen. Just then he saw he great-aunt come out wearing an apron and carrying a soapy frying pan she had obviously been in the middle of cleaning. She looked mutinous. James really wished he wasn't in the memory now. He didn't want to see his dad being told off, especially for something so brilliant. He knew if he was in his dad's place, in his time, his dad would have heard both sides of the story and, although he would still be told off for frightening his cousin (not that any of his cousins would have been), but Dudley too for taunting him in the first place. Though he knew this was unlikely to happen in this memory, what really did happen shocked him far more than anything else he had seen so far: he watched his dad ducking out the way of the saucepan, narrowly missing a blow to the head.

James didn't even notice the slight shift in the memory as he stood there, dumbstruck by what he had seen. She had tried to _hit _him. The fact that she hadn't meant nothing, the fact that she could have; everything. He had seen the Dursley's lie to his dad, threaten him, taunt him and depress him but James had never thought (although he had heard his great-uncle almost say as much) that they would ever go as far as doing _that_. He just stood there, unable to wrap his mind around what he had just seen. What he had seen happen to _his _dad.

He barely took anything in as the memory sped up a little as he watched his dad clean the windows, wash the car, mow the lawn, trim the flowerbeds, prune and water the roses, and paint the garden bench. _This shouldn't be happening_, he though numbly. _This shouldn't be happening to him. He doesn't deserve this. _Call him biased if you will, but he didn't know anyone who deserved this less than his dad. _Nobody _did, really, but he thought his dad a kind-hearted and honest person. Yes, he sometimes lied, just like everyone else, and he wasn't always nice, with a temper to rival his mother's and grandmother's put together if he was stressed enough or you pushed him too far, and had more mood swings than a girl sometimes, but he _was_ a _good _person. It seemed years later when his great-aunt came out of the kitchen again, forcing James to concentrate on the memory, though not forgetting what he had seen. No, he didn't think he'd ever forget.

"Get in here! And walk on the newspaper!"

James mustered enough strength to growl at her. He really did feel drained; even though he hadn't been the one working away in the garden, he felt like he hadn't slept in years or, at least, aged really fast. He had to literally force his legs to move as he followed his dad back into gleaming kitchen. He felt like his insides had been yanked out of him and replaced by lead. The image he had just seen was playing itself again and again in his head. He shook his head, as if he could literally shake the scene from him, and looked around the kitchen. On top of the fridge stood a pudding; a huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets and James could see a loin of roast pork that was sizzling in the oven. For once he was glad that he couldn't smell anything in the memory; seeing the food was bad enough.

"Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!" Petunia snapped while pointing at to two slices of bread and a lump of cheese on the kitchen table.

_Let them come, _James thought, glaring from the pitiful diner to his great-aunt, _let them see how you treat your nephew, let them know you __**have**__ a nephew. _Right now he hated his great-aunt more than he had hated anyone before. He hated everything about her from her cold brown eyes - so unlike her sister's, his father's and his brother's, to her salmon pink cocktail dress that looked like someone had been sick all over her. It was very fitting as she made him sick. The whole rotten family disgusted him. He watched her snatch the plate away the second his dad had finished eating.

"Upstairs! Hurry!"

James followed his dad, glad that he didn't have to be near his great-aunt any longer. As he passed the door to the living room he caught a glimpse of Vernon and Dudley in bow ties and dinner jackets, looking rather pleased with themselves. They had reached the upstairs landing as the doorbell rang and Vernon's furious face appeared at the foot of the stairs. "Remember, boy — one sound…"

James muttered mutinously under his breath as his dad crossed to his bedroom on tiptoe. James had done the same till he had stopped as he, feeling slightly silly, remembered he was in a memory. He slipped inside quickly before his dad closed the door. His father was about to sit on his bed when he jumped back suddenly.

To James's surprise, there was already someone sitting on it. A creature in fact. James stared at the little thing with bulging eyes, bat-like ears and a long pointy noise. He recognized it as once as a house-elf. Though, if his face was anything to go by, his dad defiantly didn't. _Geez, dad, haven't you been down to the kitchens yet?, _he though. Though he couldn't really talk as he was just as startled by the fact there was one in his dad's old bedroom as his dad was. There was something familiar about the elf, something in his eyes that he recognized but couldn't quite put his finger on. The more pressing question however was: what would a house-elf be doing in a Muggle area?

He and his dad just stared at the house-elf, James wondering why the elf was wearing a ragged and greasy pillow case that looked like it had been torn to allow his arms and legs through. No house-elf he had ever met wore such a thing. Then he remembered his aunt telling him of how mistreated the house-elf were back then. He hadn't really paid much attention but now, looking at the miserable creature he could see why she was so passionate about it and why she, Harry and Ron had gone to such extent to change things.

As the creature slipped off the bed and bowed, so low that its nose touched the carpet, James could hear Dudley's voice from downstairs: "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?" James turned his back on the door, wanting nothing to do with his dad's relatives and their stupid party. He glanced around the room, glad to note that it held none of the kitchens cleanliness; though the sickly peach walls were a bit off-putting. Even if James hadn't just seen his great-aunt in what would have looked like a really good disalusment charm, he would have known the color was not of his father's choice.

His dad's old room was nothing like his own. For one, you could actually walk in it without stepping on something. James had brightly coloured posters plastered across his walls, all with Quidditch players in vivid orange robes zooming around and one above his bed of a bikini clad Muggle girl. It was charmed to look like a lunar chart to the unsuspecting eye. (Though he sometimes thought his dad had his suspicions of its true identity but had decided he didn't want to know.) The only thing in his dad's bedroom that even suggested a wizard resided within it was a picture on the desk of a couple dancing in the snow, a red flash standing out as they twirled. It was odd how he had seen the exact same picture on a desk only a while ago and yet more than twenty years in the future. His head was beginning to hurt at the very thought of it, so he stopped his inspection of the room. The house-elf was far more interesting.

"Er — hello?" his dad greeted said elf, sounding slightly nervous. A thing James was defiantly not used to.

"Harry Potter!" The house-elf squeaked, "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir . . . Such an honour it is. . ."

James was used to house-elves speaking highly of his dad from his many visits to the Hogwarts kitchen. It had been slightly annoying at first listening to them all singing his praises, but after a while he hardly noticed. Treacle tart _was_ very distracting, after all.

"Th-thank you," his dad stammered before edging along the wall (making James jump out the way, momentarily forgetting he was in a memory) and sinking into a battered looking desk chair. A snowy white owl, which was asleep in its large cage, was perched next to him. _So that's why he looked so somber when I picked a Snowy owl for my eleventh, _James realized and he wondered what happened to the beautiful looking owl to make his dad look at his so wistfully.

"Who are you?" his dad asked after a while.

"Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf," the house-elf replied, making James gasp. _Dobby!_ This was the house-elf that was buried at shell cottage! James had seen the grave and the rock that had '_Here lies Dobby- a free elf'_ in his father's hand-writing. _This must be the first time they met, _James concluded. He knew that his dad had been close to the elf. Every time they went over there he would see his dad just sitting, staring at the grave, a distant look in his eyes that he got whenever he thought of the war. James still remembered vividly the day he had asked who Dobby was and how his dad had explained he was a close friend and a hero that had saved his life more times than he cared to remember. He had told James that Dobby had died saving his life, but he had not elaborated and James had not wanted to ask, seeing the pained look in his father's eyes.

"Oh — really?" his dad asked, bring James back to the present, or past in this case. "Er — I don't want to be rude or anything, but — this isn't a great time for me to have a house-elf in my bedroom."

_No it really isn't_, James thought remembering all too vividly the Dursley's reaction to anything magical. He didn't want anything to happen to his dad. Even though he was relatively sure his dad was still alive in his time (he hated that he couldn't be certain, seeing as his father was going on dangerous missions, after all) it didn't mean something bad could have _happened _to him. He didn't know if he could cope watching his dad being hurt; the frying pan had been close enough as it was. He shuddered as his great-aunts absurdly fake laugh rang from downstairs. Dobby hung his head almost shamefully.

"Not that I'm not pleased to meet you," Harry said quickly, misinterpreting the elf's action for hurt, "but, er, is there any particular reason you're here?"

"Yeah, that's what I'd like to know," James muttered.

"Oh, yes, sir," Dobby replied earnestly. "Dobby has come to tell you, sir . . . it is difficult, sir . . . Dobby wonders where to begin. . . ."

"Sit down," Harry told the elf politely, gesturing to the bed. If he had been several years later James would have thought his dad was simply talking to a new recruit in to interview. To James's surprise, the elf burst into loud tears instead.

""_S-sit down_!" he sobbed. "_Never . . . never ever _. . ."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered to the elf, "I didn't mean to offend you or anything —"

James winced at that. From what he had seen of Dobby's behavior, he guessed this wasn't the best thing to say.

"Offend Dobby!" choked the elf. James shot the door a nervous glance. He really didn't want his dad's relatives to hear the elf. "Dobby has _never _been asked to sit down by a wizard — like an _equal _—"

He looked back at the elf at that. James, who was told by his dad time and time again to treat all magical creatures as equals regardless, remembered one night, quite a while back, when his dad had tucked him in for the night and James, stubbornly insisting he wasn't tired, had asked about his second name sake. His dad, with an exhausted sigh which was easily betrayed by the twinkle in his eyes, had sat on the edge of his bed and told him all about Sirius Black. Something his father told him that night came back to James now. What had Sirius told his dad once? 'If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.' James pondered on the wise words, that he somehow knew he would pass on someday. He looked back at his dad, who was currently ushering the hiccoughing house-elf back on to the bed, shushing him. Dobby managed to compose himself, never taking his huge eyes of Harry. They watered slightly in adoration.

"You can't have met many decent wizards," Harry joked in a feeble cheery voice. Dobby shook his head sullenly. James looked at the house-elf with sympathy that soon turned to shock as, without warning, Dobby launched himself off of the bed as if suddenly burnt and started banging his head furiously against the window, yelping, "_Bad_ Dobby! _Bad _Dobby!", between whimpers. The snowy white owl in the corner woke up at the sound of the racket, adding her own startled screech to the din, her wings beating furiously against the bars of her cage. James gaped, stricken, as he watched his dad peel the house-elf away from the window and back onto the bed, hissing, "Don't- what are you doing?"

"Dobby had to punish himself, sir," Dobby explained gravely, his eyes crossing over slightly as he spoke. The sickening sensation that seemed to be a constant in these memories returned to James. _Why? _What on earth had the elf done to warrant giving himself a concussion? As if in answer to his question Dobby continued, "Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir. . . "

James knew that some house-elves served certain families for generations like Kreacher, who had died before he was born, had served the Black family. He wondered what twisted pure-blood family had Dobby belonged to and whether all house-elves were treated _this_ bad or if his family was particularly ruthless.

"Your family?" Harry asked, frowning slightly.

"The wizard family Dobby serves, sir. . . . Dobby is a house-elf — bound to serve one house and one family forever. . . ." _poor guy_, James thought feelingly.

"Do they know you're here?"

James took one look at the pale house-elf and knew the answer before Dobby replied, shuddering,

"Oh, no, sir, no . . . Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they ever knew, sir —"

James blinked at the elf wondering if he'd heard wrong but knowing he had not. He shook his head vigorously trying not to let mental images of the poor elf punishing him-self from bombarding him. The elf was making him yearn more and more for the present, where house-elf mistreatment happened to be punishable by law. He pushed away this desire as he heard his dad's disapproving voice. The old determination was setting back in. He wanted to learn more.

"But won't they notice if you shut your ears in the oven door?"

"Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, sir. They lets Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they remind me to do extra punishments..."

James let out and angry hiss before glancing at his dad and saw a glint in his eye that he knew well. He often saw it when his dad talked of any injustice. He knew that _somehow_, his dad was going to help the elf.

"But why don't you leave? Escape?"

James idly wondered how many times his dad had asked himself the same question as Dobby replied,

"A house-elf must be set free, sir. And the family will never set Dobby free... Dobby will serve the family until he dies, sir..."

Both James and the memory of his dad stared at the elf. James' mind wandered back to the grave in shell cottage, _here lies Dobby- __**a free elf**__... _he hoped wherever Dobby was now he _truly_ was at peace.

"And I thought I was hard-done-by staying here for another four weeks," Harry muttered.

"You are, dad," James sighed, but of course, his dad kept on talking,

"This makes the Dursley's sound almost human." James snorted at that - _Yeah, 'Almost'_. "Can't anyone hep you? Can't I?"

James smiled sadly at his dad's compassion but the smile fell off his lips as the elf dissolved into noisy wails of gratitude. He shot the door wary glances as his dad begged the elf in a panicked whisper,

"Please, please be quiet. If the Dursley's hear anything, if they know your here..."

James's mouth swiftly dried. He knew the Dursley's treated his dad badly but throughout this memory and the last, his dad had just seemed to just shrug it off. He wasn't used to hearing this kind of desperation in his dad's voice. It was the first sign of how much he'd really been affected. The only time he could remember hearing his dad sound really desperate was when he had fallen out of a tree when he was younger, hitting his head pretty hard, and he had come to listening to his dad practically begging him to wake up.

Thankfully, Dobby stopped crying and adopted a whisper as he spoke,

"Harry potter asks if he can help Dobby... Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew..." James didn't know whether to smile proudly or wince knowing his dad wasn't going to like Dobby's words. He settled on sniggering as his dad's memory blushed.

"Whatever you've heard about my greatness is a load of rubbish. I'm not even top of my year at Hogwarts, That's Hermione, she-"

"Oh dad, I don't think he's talking about grades." James shook his head at his dad's innocence as another thought pricked at the back of his mind. Why had his dad trailed off like that after mentioning Hermione? He figured he'd just imagined the pained look on his dad's face as Dobby sat up a little straighter and announced sincerely,

"Harry Potter is humble and modest." James rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide his smile. He really missed his dad.

"Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over He Who Must Not Be Named."

James clenched his fist, remembering the last memory and Hagrid describing the fateful Halloween night.

"Voldemort?" James faced palmed himself, (as Dobby clapped his hands over his ears), mentally screaming, _Dobby says 'who must __**not **__be named' and what do you do? Name him of course! Really, dad.  
><em>

"Ah, speak not the name, sir!" Dobby moaned "Speak not the name!"

Harry apologized quickly and James looked at the elf curiously. He remembered how Hagrid had reacted to the name but it seemed like the name was actually bringing the elf _pain_. He knew that the 'man' himself had brought pain but the mere mention of his name? He thought of how people still flinched slightly or squirmed uncomfortably at the name. His dad did neither but his usually light green eyes would darken considerably. The change was hard to spot as it would be gone as quickly as it came but James never failed to notice it. The more he saw people and creatures alike reacting to the name it made him shiver at the thought of the man himself. He much preferred it when the name could be said aloud without fear or consequence.

"I know lots of people who don't like it-" his dad continued, "my friend Ron..." this time James knew he hadn't imagined the look of pain on his dad's face. He thought back to Dudley's taunts back in the garden. _Surely they were writing to him. Maybe they'd had an argument or something... _though James thought it unlikely. They were just so _inseparable_. They were called 'The Golden Trio' and not 'Duo' for a reason after all. He remembered one argument between the three, where they had stood in the burrow living room shouting at each other for what seemed like hours, until his dad had commented suddenly and casually 'Anyone want some coffee?' and they had accepted the offer as if nothing had ever happened and gone into the kitchen. It had been truly amazing to watch them argue so vigorously then make up so quickly without fuss or vocalized apologies as if by a flick of a Muggle switch. _Surely they were writing to him, though?_

James soon forgot about letters as Dobby's eyes widened further. The elf leaned in towards his dad conspiratorially and he couldn't help edge closer to the memories, listening hard.

* * *

><p><strong>Please review! Sorry if updates are a bit sparse. I'm not abandoning this fic! It's just I have over fics on the go; add that to fact my beta and I are only human... Thanks to: <strong>

AmyRose512, PrincessSkywalkerOrgana, sjt1988, Loves to read books, bookworm1256, Aggie Holmes, SpencerReidFan89,

The Goddess Of War Athena, HPCandel17, Daziy is ., popinns, These Guilty Pleasures, Lily Lightening, psychedout9,

DramionePerfected, Fighting4Writing, TenIsTHEDoctor, narfeldo, Masks and Teapots, ticking-minds, MayaHikari, Schni10, Murasaki06,

randomgirloutthere110, FMKitsune, , harrypotterlover317, the one called Honey, dawn54321, Bekas Strife, xx13ookwormxx,

ForeverChasingDreams, Kira-Reen, Alameda, rasberry7707, Vuurvlieg, randomgirloutthere110, Pandesme, Missy Skywalker, psychedout9,

SuperFanIol, bear001. Smidgit, bleeding-noses-16, Gnome-angle-15, Dance is a sport, the one called Honey, dawn54321, Bekas Strife,

xx13ookwormxx and ForeverChasingDreams!

Amassivebookworm: Yes indeed I will be doing his 17th.

1st 'Blank' (honestly I love annon reviews but please leave some sort of name!): I'm glad you love it!

'Blank': Thank you! I'm glad you like it, and hope you continue to.

O: Oh dear I hope your ok and still in one piece, It has been a while hasn't it?

Saz: I will! Thanks for the encouragement!

Flur-se-lys: Don't worry, I won't! Glad you don't resent me. Can't have that now can we? I appreciate it if the other fics I'm working on and random one-shots I get sidetracked with don't interest you as much so waiting for this must be frustrating. Sorry.

CC: Yeay, I did!


	6. The leaves of a memory,

**A/N: Yea for ****chapter six****! Or part three of chapter two I don't know. Sorry for the wait but hey, what timing could be better to put up a fic about birthdays than on the Author's birthday? **

* * *

><p><em>...he couldn't help edge closer to the memories, listening hard.<em>

"Dobby heard tell," the elf whispered hoarsely, pausing for the briefest of seconds, "That Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time, just weeks ago . . . that Harry Potter escaped _yet again!_"

"_What!_?" James felt his blood run cold. Yet again_? _He knew his father had met Voldemort on more than one occasion, but this soon? How was it even possible? Voldemort didn't return until the end of his dad's fourth year - that was what he had learnt, anyway. He glanced at his dad; the slight bags under his father's eyes seemed even more pronounced now. He shuddered, wondering what his twelve-year-old dad had remembered as he closed his eyes for the night, the nightmares he must have had.

What had happened to him? How had he escaped, so young? He had been _eleven_! Shivers racked his body at the thought of having Voldemort, not even in his full body, being so close to his father, and just weeks ago. Of course it was years, more than a decade ago now, but for the memory of his father it had been weeks. Mere _weeks_, and to come home, back to _this_ place, with _those memories_, where James was sure he had found no comfort, how could he sit here now and look so normal? Albeit tired; whispers of shadows lingering in the corner of his eyes, he looked like a normal twelve-year-old as he nodded, confirming the rumors Dobby had 'heard tell' of.

Tears pricked in the corner of the elf's eyes as he continued,

"Ah, sir," he rasped, lifting a corner of his stained pillowcase to dab at his eyes, "Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him, even if he _does _have to shut his ears in the oven door later. . . . _Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts._"

"Wha- _what_?" James spluttered. His head was spinning, Dobby's words echoing in his mind... _protect...Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts...protect Harry Potter..._ What did the elf mean? His dad wasn't going to be in danger _again,_ was he? This was getting too much. The muffled sound of knives and forks clinking from downstairs and the distant rumble of Vernon's voice could be heard. James took the momentary silence, that had settled in the room, as an opportunity to take a deep breath and clear his mind, like he'd seen his dad and Teddy do in stressful situations. _Just take a breath James...clear you mind...it helps..._

"W-what?" Harry stammered, finally breaking the silence. If James wasn't so worried about his dad, he would have grinned at the similarity in their responses. "But I've got to go back — term starts on September first. It's all that's keeping me going. You don't know what it's like here. I don't _belong _here. I belong in your world — at Hogwarts."

James nodded vigorously at that. He didn't want his dad to spend any more time than he had to in this miserable excuse for a home. James's mind flashed back to the incident back in the garden, and he tried not to think about what they could do to him in a _year_. On a different note, he couldn't imagine what it would be like to have to spend a year at home, while his friends went to Hogwarts. Having fun, pulling pranks, learning magic... It was bad enough when Teddy was going and he couldn't. Though, he knew it was different for his dad. _He_ has a home, a caring family to come home to. For his dad Hogwarts had been his true home. James felt a stab of sadness that, as great as Hogwarts was, his dad had found a better home at _school_.

"No, No, No!" Dobby squeaked emphasizing each 'no' with a vigorous shake of the head. "Harry Potter must stay where he is safe."

"And that's not here!" The words left James mouth before he could stop them, wanting to voice some of his feelings, heard or not.

"He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."

"No, no, _no!_" James proclaimed shaking his head, unintentionally mirroring Dobby. _This wasn't happening._ The elf was lying. It was just a prank, something he and Fred would pull on Louis or Lucas, or some slimy Slytherin trying to stop Harry from going back to school. But with each denial-induced excuse his brain could form he could not help the image of his dad, sitting by Dobby's grave, in the pouring rain, the droplets mingling with his tears, pushing itself to the front of his mind. Why would his dad mourn the elf so much if it was a prank? His dad had said that the elf had saved his life many times. Was this how? Only one thing was for sure, this was very, very real.

"What?"

If James didn't already have vast experience of his dad taking just about everything calmly, he would have been both impressed and sickened by how there was _just_ surprisein his dad's voice. If he didn't have prankster cousins, uncles and even siblings, he would be freaking out if a house-elf had told him that. Though he wouldn't be for long because, of course, _he _had relatives that would reassure him. He couldn't imagine his dad telling the Dursley's that he may be in danger at school. James snorted at the image before realizing they would probably _welcome_ the idea. He once again forced all thoughts of the Dursley's out of his mind. _They're not worth thinking about_, he told himself firmly.

"There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make the most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year." The elf was trembling all over and James could not help the cold shiver that ran down his spine. "Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!"

_You're going to have to tell him more than that_, _if you don't want him to go back, _James told the elf mentally. His dad didn't think in terms of some being more '_important'_ than offers. He shook his head fondly, knowing his dad wasn't going to stop going to Hogwarts just because he may be in 'peril'. He tried to repress the shivers attacking his spine at the thought of his dad being _in_ peril. He reminded himself over and over that his dad had most certainly lived passed the age of twelve. He knew 'trivial' things, like 'danger' and 'peril' didn't make his dad shiver, or back down, but he hadn't expected his dad to be used to it at such a young age. He'd always thought that he had just become accustomed to being in danger as he grew _older_, during the war at least. James had heard the standard jokes, that his dad was a danger magnet, that he had never had a peaceful year at Hogwarts. His dad's persistent saying, that was practically his motto, seemed to reverberate throughout the years:_ 'I don't go looking for trouble. Trouble usually finds me!'_

But they had exaggerated, right? He couldn't be in danger this early on, _every year_. Then he remembered that his dad had already met Voldemort _twice_ prior to this memory and he wondered how he (James) could have been so naïve.

He racked his brains, trying to figure out how his dad could be in danger _again_ when Voldemort hadn't even returned. Or perhaps he had? He thought hard about what he knew about his dad's second year - which was near to nothing. His mum in particular never even mentioned her first year at Hogwarts, and his dad had told him gently enough not to ask. He had heard rumors, of course, and snatches from others (he wouldn't be the child of a member of the golden trio if he hadn't done any eavesdropping in his time). These snippets, combined with brief seconds before slumber in History Of Magic classes, told of a secret chamber hidden in the school. Apparently it was opened during his mother's first year, but thankfully no-one had died, _that time_. James never knew why people were 'thankful' no-one had died or who had died last time, or when it was opened before, or even how _many_ times it had been opened - but it had put him off from ever looking for such a chamber.

James gulped, wondering if this chamber had anything to do with what Dobby was warning his dad about_. His dad hadn't been involved in it, had he? _Though knowing his dad, James had a bad feeling that he was right, a feeling that grew stronger as his dad demanded: "What terrible things? Who's plotting them?"

A raging battle was going on inside of James as he watched Dobby start to bang his head against the wall. A part of him, that sounded suspiciously like his cousin Rose, wanted to shout: 'No! Don't get involved! Stay out of it! Dobby, don't tell him _anything_!', but he knew there was no way his dad hadn't been involved with the 'terrible plots'. He knew his dad far too well to think otherwise. The more logical part of his mind was telling him that his dad was going to get involved, no matter what, as it was _him_ in danger after all. What had his dad said? '_Ignorance is bliss, but knowledge is power_'. Harry needed to know as much as he could. There was no point in just hiding away. James had come to find that the danger would not pass till you met it head on, so why prolong it? Though, the Rose-like-conscience was yearning to burst through. He just didn't want his dad involved, was that so bad?

He knew he couldn't really talk when it came to jumping straight into the jaws of danger; he _is_ a Gryffindor after all. He knew the temptation all too well, the intrigue, the thrill that came with it. A second later a flash of shame washed over him. Did he really just think his dad felt _thrill_ at being in danger? His dad would like nothing more than a peaceful existence, to have had a placid childhood. Yet he had, had to fight. He doubted his dad regretted fighting or even regrets still fighting. To fight for freedom, peace, to _protect_? Yes. For thrill, an adrenalin rush? His dad? _Never_.

"All right!" his dad cried, effectively quieting the rage of his inner turmoil and sucking him back into the scene he was witnessing, "You can't say, I understand," Harry continued, grabbing the elf's arm firmly to stop further self-harm. "But why are you telling _me_?"

James had to admit it was a good question. Who said this new danger had anything to do with Voldemort? _Did_ the chamber, assuming the chamber _was_ the danger, have anything to do with him? If it did, he could understand why his dad would be in danger, and he could tell that his dad was coming to the same conclusion. Harry's eyes widened a fraction, his face paling slightly but enough for the shadows under his eyes to stand out, like a dark night setting on a snowy day.

"Hang on- this hasn't got anything to do with Vol- sorry- with You Know Who, has it?" Dobby's head tilted dangerously close to the wall and Harry added hastily, "You could just shake or nod."

James didn't know whether to be relieved or not as Dobby slowly shook his head. Was it good that Voldemort wasn't after his dad, yet again, or was it worse that his father now had someone else to worry about wanting to hurt him? _He's only twelve and he has two psychopaths after him!_

"Not - not _He Who Must Not Be Named, _sir,_" _the elf emphasized the words, '_He How Must Not Be Named_' as if trying to give his dad a hint. James looked at his dad, trying to figure out if his father understood this or if he was just as lost as he was.

"He hasn't got a brother has he?" _I'll take that as the latter then_, James mused wirily as Dobby shook his head again, eyes wider than James thought possible.

"Well then I can't think who else would have a chance of making horrible things happen at Hogwarts," Harry pondered out loud, "I mean there's Dumbledore, for one thing- you know who Dumbledore is, don't you?" he asked the elf politely.

Dobby bowed his head as if in respect and James did the same, wishing he could have met the man in person. He smiled fondly at the memories he had of brief conversations with the portrait of his little brother's namesake, during his many visits to the Headmistress's office.

"Albus Dumbledore is the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's powers rival those of, He Who Must Not Be Named at the height of his strength."

James made a mental note to tell all this to his brother, who was fascinated by his name sake. He briefly wondered where Dobby got his views from, when his family sounded like the pureblood sort that would scoff as Dumbledore's ideologies. His ponderings were hastily pushed aside as Dobby's voice dropped to an urgent whisper,

"But sir, there are powers Dumbledore doesn't...powers no decent wizard..." but the elf didn't continue: as if being pulled by invisible strings, he leapt of the bed, seized Harry's desk lamp and brought it to his head again and again, yelping with every blow. Harry got up to stop him but stopped in his tracks as the hallway creaked. James tensed, his heart beating madly in his chest as he heard the rumbling voice of his dad's uncle calling,

"Dudley must have left his television on again, little tyke!"

"_Oh Merlin, dad, hurry!"_ James pleaded to the memory of his dad. As if hearing his words, Harry grabbed the elf, hissing: "Quick! In the wardrobe!" He hastily stuffed the elf inside, closed the door and leaped on to the bed as the door handle turned.

"What - the - _devil _- are - you - doing?" Vernon spat through gritted teeth, putting his face up into Harry's.

"Get away from him!" James's blood boiled as he glared at Vernon, rage turning his vision red.

"You've just ruined the punch-line of my Japanese-golfer joke... one more sound and you'll wish you'd never been born, boy!"

James was clenching his fists so tightly that his nails were digging mercilessly into his palms, as his great-uncle turned and stomped out of the room.

_How the hell could someone say something like that to a child? Didn't they realize how something like that could seriously mess up a kid?, _James seethed, turning back to his dad who was shaking. The anger simmered inside him as he watched his dad let the elf out of the wardrobe.

However, his enmity drained away slowly at the sight of his trembling dad. His great-uncle's final words rang in his head. _Wish you'd never been born..._ Had his father- had he...? James didn't want to think about it. No person - no _child _- should ever wish for such a thing. He wanted to see his dad now, more than ever before. He wanted to see his father, his grown up, adult, _happy_ dad. The version of him that had a twinkle in his emerald eyes, a smile to share with everyone. He would never admit it out loud but he missed the times when he could crawl into his father's lap and cry into his chest when troubled. What he wanted right now, more than anything was his dad's supporting hand on his shoulder. He wanted to know that his dad had never wished for such a thing.

Surely his dad had known, knows now at the very least, how much he meant to so many people, how much his dad _means_ to him. How vital he was to their lives. James vowed that he would make sure his dad knew it as well; he was never going to let him think otherwise.

"See what it's like here?" his dad asked the elf. "See why I've got to go back to Hogwarts? It's the only place I've got — well, I _think _I've got friends."

"Of course you do!" James protested indignantly on his aunt and uncle's behalf.

"Friends who don't even _write _to Harry Potter?" Dobby prompted slyly. James narrowed his eyes at the elf, something wasn't right here.

"I expect they've just been — wait a minute," Harry paused, frowning. "How do _you _know my friends haven't been writing to me?"

Dobby shuffled his feet guiltily and James gasped. _The elf had stopped his dad's letters!_

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby- Dobby did it for the best..." The elf trailed off, completely oblivious to the other presence in the room that was glaring at him. How had stopping his dad's letters _helped_ him? It had just made him _more_ miserable.

"_Have you been stopping my letters?_" Harry's question was scarcely a whisper and James winced, recognizing the tell-tale signs of his father's temper immediately. It was the calm before the storm and all though seeing his dad angry was a rare occasion it was _not_ something you forgot in a hurry. Perhaps the elf had also recognized the signs for he stepped away from Harry, looking anxious, while pulling out a wad of letters from out of his pillowcase.

"Dobby has them here, sir."

James watched his dad eye the letters in the elf's hand hungrily, hands twitching slightly. His eyes darted from the elf to the letters as if calculating the best time to make a grab for them. "Harry Potter mustn't be mad..." the elf repeated, almost pleadingly. James could tell that a part of the elf deeply regretted what he was doing; the way he was taunting his dad having the letters right in front of him, just out of reach, the coveted handwriting of his friends mocking him, daring him to claim them.

"...Dobby hoped...if Harry Potter had thought his friends had forgotten him...Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir."

The realization that the letters were so close to him that they could be read, must have become too much for Harry, as he leapt at the elf, trying to seize the letters, though Dobby was far too quick for him and gracefully leaped out of the way.

"Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word the he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back,

"No! Give me my friend's letters!" James was left in no doubt that Dobby was a war hero as the elf just looked at his dad sadly. '_If he had yelled like that at me, I would be running in the other direction.' _

"Then Dobby leaves Harry Potter no choice," and on that ominous note the elf turned and darted to the door, flung it open and sprang out of view, Harry hot on his trail. James stood motionless for a split second before following suit. He glanced around quickly before noticing his dad already at the bottom of the stairs, cat like on the carpet. James didn't have time to be impressed by his dad 's swiftness as he hurried down the stairs, taking full advantage of the fact no-one could hear him. His heart thundered fiercely as he watched his dad disappear down the hall and into what he remembered to be the kitchen.

The kitchen held one of the most climacteric situations he had ever seen. His father stood with his back to him, but he could tell every muscle in his body was tense. James glanced up at the house-elf perched upon a cupboard in the corner. What made the situation so dire? In the center of the kitchen floating just shy of the glossy ceiling was his great-aunts pudding, a pile of whipped cream balanced on top - a primed accessory for chaos. James glanced quickly from the pudding to the elf and back again, the tension in the room mounting rapidly. His dad and the elf was locked in a standoff that James just knew was not going to go in his dad's favor.

"No...they'll kill me."

James gulped at his dad's plea, his heart aching at the desperation of it.

"Harry Potter must say he is not going back to school -" the elf demanded, a final warning if James had ever heard one.

"Dobby...please..."

"Say it, sir..."

"I can't!"

James wished his dad would just lie and have done with it, but he knew he never would. It when against his father's principles and though it irked him to no end he respected it all the same.

The elf shot Harry a pained look and James knew it was all over.

"Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potters own good."

Before either father or son could protest the dessert fell with an ear-splitting crash as the dish shattered upon contact with the tiled floor. Cream flew off in every direction, thick blobs dangling of the walls, splattering the windows. A second later the elf was gone without a trace, the sound of a whip cracking lost admits the sudden shrieks. Harry turned to face the door at the sound and James breath caught in his chest at look of pure panic in his dad's wide eyes. His cream-covered body was ridged as though caught in the second before a full-body-bind-curse took its effects. Behind him Vernon burst through the door and James tuned, coming almost nose-to-chest with his great-uncle. He took an instinctive step back.

Behind Vernon, lingering in the doorway was a skinny couple. The man was tall and lanky, dressed smartly and looking quite perplexed. The woman however had a look of distain as she eyed up the pudding covered walls, her eyes finally falling on the pudding covered child. She raised a cold eye-brow at Vernon, silently demanding and explanation of the rude interruption of the evening's pleasantries.

Vernon put on a painfully fake smile and muttered,

"Just our nephew- very disturbed- meeting strangers upsets him, so we keep him upstairs..."

James resisted the urge to punch the memory of his great-uncle and looked up at the Masons expecting to see suspicion cross their faces. The Masons however, to James disgust, seemed satisfied by the explanation and allowed themselves to be directed back out of the room. Vernon whirled around, grasped a mop from the side and thrust it through James, which thankfully didn't hurt as he had worried, and into Harry's hands. He snarled threateningly that once the Masons were gone he would flay him within an inch of his life and stormed out of the room.

Petunia pushed her way passed, flung open the freezer and left with a tub of ice-cream, departing with a menacing glare over her shoulder. Once sure it was just him and the memory of his father (who pried himself out of his shell-shocked state and had begun to clean) he sank to the floor, careful not to lean too far back on the cupboard and fall right through it. He felt like he was trapped in a nightmare, only this was real. All this, everything he had seen, had _happened_, and not just to anyone, no stranger, but _his dad_. He just wanted it to end.

He buried his head in his knees knowing that if he dared look up at his cleaning twelve-year-old dad, who was still shaking rather badly, his resolve would break - his heart would simply shatter. His great-uncle's threat still lingered in the room like a bad smell as he closed his eyes, wishing fervently that when he opened them again he would be back in his father's study, or better yet, in his arms. He knew it was wishful thinking but as he heard a soft hoot he couldn't help but think he was in his room again, his faithful bird demanding where he'd been. His hope was shattered by a scream and he knew the nightmare was starting up again.

He jumped up at the sound of thudding and a shout, another shriek,

"Bloody lunatics!"

"Is this your idea of a joke!" more banging, a slamming of a door, silence.

James chanced a glance at his dad who had stopped cleaning and was griping the mop as though it were his only lifeline, eyes impossibly wide. James turned slowly and nearly jumped out of his skin to see Vernon once again in the door way, his nostrils flaring. There was a menacing glint in his beady eyes as he advanced on his dad, a letter scrunched up in his fist. James jumped up from the floor as Vernon shook the letter in front of Harry's face, hissing,

"Read it! Go on- read it."

James could scarcely breath as he watched his dad's emerald eyes scan the letter, his face slowly paling beyond recognition. His dad looked up from the letter and seemed to swallow hard, a flicker of fear shone in his eyes.

"You didn't tell us you weren't allowed to use magic outside school."

James didn't miss the triumph in the man's voice nor the deranged demonic glint, which did not bode well, in his eyes. It dawned on him that his father's last safe guard was now gone. He had realized that most of the Dursley's hatred towards his dad was acted out of fear, but he had never stopped to think how that fear could also be the only thing _protecting_ him. Now the fear was gone, far from making them see him for who he was, it was backfiring spectacularly.

"Forgot to mention it...slipped your mind, I dare say." He took a step closer to Harry, his teeth bared, towering over his nephew. "Well I've got news for you boy...I'm locking you up..."

"NO!" James reacted on pure instinct and dived in front of his dad, arms spread out. "You can't do that!" he yelled at the memory but his great-uncle paid no heed. There was nothing he could do. He _knew_ there was nothing he could do but he refused to move.

"You're never going to that school again...never...and if you try to magic yourself out - they'll expel you!" Vernon gave a deranged laugh and for the second time plunged his hand through James as though he was nothing but thin air.

"No! No! Get...off...of...him!" James tried desperately to push Vernon away but every effort was futile. Every kick, every punch; worthless. He had never felt more helpless in his life as he watched his twelve-year-old dad being dragged out of the kitchen. James lunged after them, trying to grab on to the memory, to do _anything_ to stop this from happening, to help his dad. His hands capsized on nothing and he felt to the floor. He got to his knees in time to see his dad being dragged carelessly up the stairs, his great uncles manic laughter pounding through his ears.

"DAD!" He felt hot tears spill down his checks as walls around him shimmered and faded, this time into darkness. "_DAD_!"

* * *

><p><strong>Please review! Positive feedback would make a great birthday present!<strong>

**Anyway, birthday cake for: **Vuurvlieg, Ginny-T-Potter, The Goddess Of War Athena, Morning Lilies, readingismylife16, Aggie Holmes, Pj35, Serena Bluemoon, Cirien5, Ma'at's Diamond, Chibi-Foodly-Girl, Ijustwantyoutoknow, Zerri, amasivebookworm, These Guilty Pleasures, Codelulu-chan, Wragziez, ticking-minds, goren son, Fleur-de-lys, livedadream, randomness6, Muffliato, RHHP Freak, Spyquirks, Serious Bunburyist and MMansonSmoke. -sorry if i missed anyone!

_Beta's Note - Hi. I'd like to send a personal thank you out to everybody who has reviewed, and made Ami's hard work worthwhile. Isn't she epic? So yeah, keep reviewing, peeps x_

**Thanks Drammy! :-) **

**Amassivebookworm: hehehe, I aim to please. Oh he is, he is and no he hasn't. Thanks for the review. Hope you like the chap. **

Fleur-de-lys: I'm so glad you like it and I hope you liked this one too. Wow I haven't gotten that far yet. Thanks for the review!

**Merlin knows when the next chap will be up. Collage is my main priority now so I'll do it when I can. Well off to go celebrate! Please review! -Ami P x**


	7. Rustle in the dark,

**A/N: Oh my Merlin this has been sat on my comp for so long but now it's been betaed and it's finally up! Ever so sorry for the wait but hey that's life. Chapter seven, wow I've never written a fan-fic so long! I usually stick to one-shots so I hope the quality is consistent. This is for everyone who made my birthday extra special with the great feedback and helped me get to 80+. Love you guys!**

**This chapter is dedicated to Vitzy! Love you. You too Drammy, for sticking with this.**

* * *

><p><em>...shimmered and faded, this time into darkness.<em>

"_DAD! Oh Merlin, dad, come back! Let him go!_" As James sobbed, no one replied. The darkness surrounded him, and he felt as if he had just resurfaced from a nightmare, remembering all the times as a kid when he had woken up screaming for his dad. Only this time, his dad wasn't coming. James took deep sharp breaths that seemed to rattle in his chest; slashing at his heart, trying to stay calm. He wasn't that little kid any more, he reminded himself firmly.

Where was his dad? Where was _he, _himself? Was he still in the memory? Was he still in the hallway with his dad above him, alone with Vernon? He couldn't bear to think of it remembering his great-uncle's threat. He wanted to see his dad; he _had_ to see him, to know that he was ok.

"Dad?" he called out again, wrapping his arms around himself. _Oh Godric, Dad, please be okay. _He reminded himself again and again that he had just seen a memory, that his dad had been twelve, that his dad was no longer twelve, but a grown man. It didn't help in the slightest. For one, the fact that what he saw was a _memory_ was not comforting at all and for another, who said his dad was alright in the present? What if he wasn't coming home? And even if he was okay, who was to say that none of what he had seen had not affected his dad in a way that he never let on? Did he ever think about what had happened to him, the way he'd been treated?

James rocked back and forth in the darkness wishing for it to lift.

As though his wish was granted, the room was suddenly lit with a dim light. James blinked as his eyes readjusted. He could just about make out a tent-like structure in front of him. A muffled light came from inside it, spilling out from underneath it. Like the couch back in the first memory, the tent-like-thing seemed to breathe and James's heart lifted, wondering if it too contained a person. He yearned to reach out and touch it, to move it aside and reveal his dad. Yet he somehow knew his efforts would be pointless, that he was still in the basin.

He strained his ears, trying to catch any sign of breathing. He was rewarded with a scratching sound that reminded him of what he heard every night, when he passed his sister's bedroom before bed. It was the sound of a quill scratching its way across a bit of parchment. But as soon as the scratching had started it had ceased. There was a pregnant pause before it started up again, and James let out a breath he was unaware of holding.

He jumped at what he had thought to be distant thunder, but recognized as snoring coming from another room. The tent then shifted slightly, lifting up for a second before becoming still once more. And then the light went out. James's breath caught in his chest, and his heart nearly jumped out of its cage as he heard a rustling noise and something stepped out of the tent-like thing.

He slowly got to his feet and couldn't help but feel as if he was close to that something, that _someone_.

He heard a soft creak, then a muffled clink that seemed to come from down by his feet. Then came the sound of someone drawing a pair of curtains. He blinked as delicate moonlight streamed into the room, illuminating it. James realized that he was, once again, in his father's old bedroom, said father leaning out to open the window, a fresh breeze drifting in. James could not feel the breeze, though he could see it rushing through his dad's tousled hair. He felt a relief wash over him, calming him in the same way the draft was soothing his dad.

James hadn't failed to notice how much taller his dad looked compared to the last memory, and realized with a jolt that they were exactly the same height. Even though his dad had his back to him, it was like looking at a clone of himself. He stared at his dad's back, drinking in his presence, letting it reassure him. He did his best to ignore how, even though they looked the same age, he was nowhere near as skinny as his dad.

He tried to push aside what he had seen in the last memory, but he couldn't help wondering what had happened to his dad. It was obvious that he had made another time skip, and his dad was probably thirteen. James wondered, fear mingled with curiosity, was this another birthday, and if it was, what was going to happen to his dad this time? Was there another threat? What had happened to the last threat - the one Dobby had been so insistent on stopping his dad from being involved in? Had his dad been hurt? Had the danger passed? James gulped, realizing this was just the beginning for his dad. The true war hadn't even started again. Just two years.

He wanted to reach out, to grab his dad tightly, to never let him out of his sight again. Slowly, he walked towards Harry so he stood beside him, shoulder to shoulder, not an inch taller than the other. He looked at his dad, the moonlight silhouetting his profile, dancing in his emerald eyes that scanned the night skies, a look of peaceful contentment across his already scarred face.

James reached out a hand towards his dad's cheek, barely touching it, but close. He closed his eyes and imagined that he could feel the warmth of his dad's cheek, that he could take comfort from it. He prayed that when he opened them his dad would be looking back at him, smiling at him. He knew, of course, this would not happen. He wasn't even surprised when he did open them. Instead he reluctantly withdrew his hand, rested his head on his dad's shoulder and sighed, taking comfort in the fact that his dad wasn't being dragged out of the room at least. For the first time since he had entered the basin he felt calm, completely safe. Things that even as a memory, totally oblivious to his presence, his dad could make him feel.

James tensed as he felt Harry jerk back slightly and looked out the window. He wondered what his dad had seen that has startled him, cursing whatever it was for taking away the moment of calm. James blinked, wondering what it was that he was seeing. Perhaps he really needed glasses, he though, as a blur came into focus taking the form of a strange lopsided animal. Was it injured? The animal seemed to drop dramatically in the sky before sawing up again, gradually sinking lower and lower. Whatever it was James knew it was heading straight for them. The creature honed in close, swooping down over a lamppost across the street. Harry leaped aside and James ducked as the creature flew in through the window and over his head.

James jumped up and twisted around, fearful that the animal was attacking his dad but was surprised, and relieved, to see three owls plonked on his dad's bed. The middle one had a large parcel attached to his legs and seemed to be unconscious, looking defiantly worst for ware. The only owl James recognized was his dad's snowy owl, which had a look of smug satisfaction and pride and a smaller parcel. James watched as his dad rushed to revive to ancient looking owl, taking it over to the cage in the corner. It drank gratefully, now free of its load.

Harry had already turned back to his own owl, who nipped his hand affectionately as he took her package. She flew across the room to accompany the other bird in her cage as he turned his attention to the remanding owl. James recognized the owl at once as a Tawny owl, as he had dearly wanted one himself before his eyes had fallen upon Sophia. Not only did he recognize the owl's breed, but also the letter it held as it bore a crest he could identify a mile away: Hogwarts. The owl ruffled his feathers almost impatiently and once Harry had taken its parcel, it took off through the window into the starry sky once more.

James couldn't help grin at the sight of his dad sat on his bed, unwrapping his first parcel, a smile upon his face as gold wrapping was revealed along with a card and a letter. This was how he had imagined his dad's birthdays - well, not quite, but the look of joy upon his face was what he had imagined at least. His dad held the card with trembling hands as if it was the most precious thing in the world. James wondered if his dad had ever received a card before.

He refused to let the depressing revelation engulf him, not when he was finally seeing his dad happy. Harry proceeded to open the envelope and read the two pieces of paper that fell out. James went to stand beside his dad once more and leaned over to look at a picture he had seen many times before. The picture was attached to a newspaper cutting and Harry smoothed it out before reading it. James, already knowing what it said, contented himself by staring at the young selves of a large proportion of his family as they waved up at them, an ancient pyramid in the background.

His eyes automatically went to his mother. He searched her eyes, looking for the haunted shadows he had seen in his father's, but found none. She looked happy, simply happy; her dad behind her had a hand on her shoulder. Was it his imagination or was it an almost protective embrace? He saw his younger godfather, Ron, next, and scowled at the rat he was holding. His uncle had no rat now and when he had asked before only dark looks had only been shared among the adults.

He scanned his uncles Bill, Charlie and Percy, briefly wondering why the latter was looking so smug. Soon enough, he noticed the gleaming 'Head Boy' badge and rolled his eyes, quickly moving on to the twins in the front, who were grinning mischievously. He wondered wistfully what it would be like if he knew his uncle Fred, if the pair had remained whole. _Oh how much I would have learnt,_ he sighed and after giving up on guessing which twin was which, he just smiled at his family.

Harry then moved on to Ron's letter and again smoothed it out. James leaned in to read, but suddenly felt as if he was invading his dad's privacy, which was ironic now he thought about it. He hadn't had a problem with going into his dad's memories, but now when it came to reading a simple letter it felt as if he was intruding upon something personal. Though, he hadn't gone out to find his dad's memories, now had he? He hadn't _asked_ to be sucked into a memory showing basin (A big part of him wished he _hadn't_ been sucked in). It couldn't really be prying if you were lured under false pretenses, right? But then again he shouldn't have been in his dad's office in the first place, he realized.

His dad _had_ told him, Al and Lily not to go in there without his permission. Had he not agreed? He felt sudden guilt that he had broken his promise. But then again it was always the way. You never really think about how guilty you'll feel later while you're actually doing whatever it is you shouldn't. If you thought about it you wouldn't do it, and where was the fun in that? No, thinking of the consequences had never been his strong point. Albus was the more cautious one by far.

Had his dad had the basin in mind when he told them not go into his office? James knew there were probably other dangerous objects in his dad's office, and that's what he was beginning to see the basin as. It had been so innocent looking back in the office, so enchanting, its warm glow concealing the horror within.

But there were plenty of other thing's his dad surely didn't want them to touch. Things containing curses, perhaps, or protective enchantments. Who was to say the basin was what his dad was scared of him seeing? It must have been one of his fears. He was sure his dad didn't want any of his kids seeing him being dragged up the stairs, or nearly hit by a frying pan. There were so many other memories the _thing_ must have to offer. Was he getting off easy by just seeing birthdays? There must be memories of war, death, sorrow in here. Things his dad most certainly did not want him to see, and he could understand why his dad didn't want them in the office - he couldn't blame him either. Couldn't he have just trusted his dad? Just known that there was a reason and left things alone?

But no, that was not his way and it never would be. He didn't learn things from books like Cousin Rose, or from being told what to do, like his other Cousin Molly, but from experience. And this was sure turning out to be one hell of one.

It hadn't been the first time in his dad's office by far. He was allowed in if his dad was there; he knew that he could come and talk whenever he wanted and his dad would push his work aside. He _had_ broken in before to get the legendary marauders map - but that was different. Of course in his jubilation, naivety, and slight arrogance he had not thought about, till much later, the shadow in the corner of the room as he left or that soft chuckle that he was sure he had imagined, nor the fact that the _only_ draw unlocked _happened_ to be the one with the map in. This experience however, though he was slightly enjoying it now, was enough to put him off sneaking into offices again...for a while.

During his pondering his dad had moved on from the letter and opened up the parcel to reveal what he recognized at once as a Sneakoscope. He had one in his room, a birthday present from his uncle George. For a second he panicked, wondering if the thing was going to go off. He was doing something he shouldn't after all, but nothing happened, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

He wondered how his dad would react when he found out he had been in his memories. He wasn't foolish, he knew his dad would know, and even if he didn't, he would have to tell him. He had so many things he had to know after all. But would his dad answer? Would James just be shielded - maybe even more now? Would his dad be angry? Was he, right now, _looking_ for him? He wondered if any time had passed at all. Would once he left the basin appear at the exact same moment as before?

He started to panic as a thought struck him. What is he _couldn't_ leave? What if he was stuck? Was he going to be sifting through his dad's old memories for the rest of his life, suspended in a glowing liquid in an ancient basin? Perhaps time _had_ passed and his parents were wandering the house, calling out his name. His dad would see the open door and think it was all his fault, that his eldest son was trapped in a swirl of time and memories. '_Stop being so dramatic!'_, he chided himself, trying to push these questions to one side. There was nothing he could do about it now. Perhaps a way out would present itself in time - and there was no way his dad was going to let him be trapped inside a basin for all eternity. Who cared if his dad was mad, as long as he got to _see_ him again?

Harry put the Sneakoscope on his bedside table and gazed at it contently for a second before pulling the parcel, his snowy owl had brought, towards him. It revealed yet another card, letter and present only this time James saw him open the letter first. He once more resisted the urge to read it, thinking he could at least preserve _some_ of his dad's privacy.

Harry read the letter quickly; absorbing the words and James wondered how someone with such bad eyes sight could read a letter in just the moonlight. The silence that had come to the room was broken by a laugh and James's heart jumped, realizing that it was not only the first time he had heard his dad do so since he had entered the memories, but also in real-time for quite a while. It had been weeks since he had heard his dad laugh, he couldn't even remember why.

His dad was happy enough when he was home, happy to _be_ home, but James couldn't remember the last time he had heard his dad laugh _properly_. Like the memory Harry just had. It had been a carefree laugh, genuinely amused, not forced in the slightest. It was an odd feeling to suddenly feel as if this memory dad was having a better time that the one in the present, but then he reminded himself of the other inhabitants in the memory. The people in the other rooms, the people who were bound to make him miserable again.

He knew the dad he knew now was far happier, and will be again, when whatever he was doing was finished. Perhaps it was over, and his dad was home for good this time. The thought cheered him up, and he tuned back into the memory in time to see his dad rip off the wrapping of his second present, to reveal a sleek black leather case with silver words stamped across it: _Broomstick Servicing Kit._

James recognized it as once, knowing immediately it was the same case as the slightly battered (but still in good condition) one in his dad's bedroom that he was allowed to use before getting his own for his birthday- he clicked he fingers as revelation struck him- his _thirteenth_ birthday, back in March. He was struck dumb as he realized the exact same scene had happened up in Gryffindor common room where had ripped back the parcel and jumped for joy and he laughed now as his dad breathed in awe,

"Wow Hermione."

He couldn't explain why he felt so excited, why he felt as if he had discovered something amazing; perhaps it was because he was _witnessing_ the birth of a tradition. Yes it wasn't the most exciting tradition being given a broomstick servicing kit on your thirteenth by Hermione, but it was still amazing to see where it had come from. It was like he was witnessing a piece of family history, no, he _was_ witnessing a piece of family history – _his _family! - and he felt honored to have seen it. He knew he could have easily asked where the tradition had come from, why thirteenth and the like, and he probably would have gotten an answer, maybe have even thought it mundane, but this was different.

It was more powerful somehow perhaps, not just because he was experiencing it, but because he truly understood how much it meant to his dad. Not just because flying was his passion and he was happy his friend had recognized that, but because it let him know that he wasn't forgotten, that even though he was trapped in this hell-hole for the summer he still had friends out there missing him; that he had a _true_ family waiting for him.

James smiled as he watched his dad unzip the case and examine the contents, his eyes wide as if he had just opened a treasure chest. James knew that his dad still loves the case- a reason why he, himself, had been so careful when allowed to use it. He would hate to see the look on his dad's face if any of it broke. It wasn't easy to fix broom equipment, as he had learnt the hard way, though thankfully none of it his own.

Harry put the case aside and picked up the last parcel which James guessed must be from Hagrid. He grinned, thinking of the half-giant and how he was going to thank him for taking good care of his dad in the first memory his saw.

His gratitude, however, was beginning to be tested as the parcel in his dad's hand - now partly ripped - gave a quiver, snapping furiously as though the thing had - _jaws_? But surely Hagrid wouldn't wrap an animal up in wrapping paper - he loved his creatures far too much to do that, but then again that was the point with Hagrid- he loved them a little _too_ much sometimes.

Harry froze and stared at the parcel with caution before giving it a nervous poke. The object snapped louder. Perhaps it didn't like being poked, James mused as he watched his dad reach out and pick up his lamp from off his bedside table. Harry raised it above his head, primed to strike. Seizing the rest of the wrapping with his spare hand he pulled fast, as though ripping of a plaster so it wouldn't prolong the hurt. To James surprise it did not reveal beasts nor monster but a _book_. James watched the appropriately titled '_The Monster Book of Monsters'_ flip on to its side and scuttle along the bed before falling off the edge with a thud.

"Cool!" he exclaimed excitedly over his dad's mutterings of "Uh oh." The book picked its self up again and scurried under the desk, residing there, sure it was safe. James watched on bemusedly as his dad followed the book stealthily, as though a hunter experienced in the art of 'book catching', crouched down by his desk, went down on his hands and knees and, ever so slowly reached out into the dark space under the desk. There was a pause, then Harry quickly retrieved his and James was sure he had succeeded before Harry cried, "Ouch!" James couldn't help laugh at his dad's expense, wondering how he got himself into such odd situations - talking to odd house-elves and chasing rouge books were hardly the norm. Harry finally dived on the book and managed to flatten it, earning a clap from a very amused James while Harry held it tightly, rummaging around in his closet for a belt to tie the book-beast up.

"Bravo dad!" James cheered, moving out the way when his dad chucked the book on to the bed where he had been sitting. Said book shuddered angrily beside him as Harry sat down on his other side and began to read Hagrid's card. A grin spread across Harry's face as he read and James felt happier with every passing second, wishing the other two memories he'd seen were a bit more like this. Harry placed the card with the others, still grinning widely as he reached for his last letter - the one from Hogwarts.

James sat up a little straighter, remembering what was coming with this letter. The Hogsmeade permission slip. His own one was being kept hostage by his mother till he had proven himself 'responsible enough' which of course for him translated as 'willing to submit to blackmail'. He knew that they would sign it...eventually, but had decided to milk it for all it was worth. But they would not really deprive him the delight that was Hogsmeade village. Though his dad looked far from wistful at the prospect of visiting the magical village. In fact the grin had fallen off his face and James felt his own happiness plummet. How on earth was his dad going to go to Hogsmeade?

There was no way on earth, or even the universe, that the Dursleys would ever let his dad go to such a place, especially if it would make him happy. James felt his heart go out for his dad. That was until he remembered, feeling both confused and foolish, that his dad had indeed had gone to Hogsmeade several times as a student. But how? Surely, _surely_ not? The Dursleys hadn't? James shook his head, knowing bitterly there was no way. A small smile crept across James's face as he decided not to worry knowing his dad had found a way around it, perhaps even snuck in using the cloak. He preferred that idea the most if he was honest, things were always much more exciting if they were forbidden he had found.

Harry looked over to his alarm clock. James did the same - 2:00 am.

"And you tell us off for staying up late," James muttered to himself, wondering what the time was in real-time. How strange it was to be in the morning...in the afternoon. James jumped up as his dad pulled the covers up to get in to bed. Before settling down his dad reached up to pull a chart James hadn't noticed before off the wall.

At first glance, it looked just like an ordinary calendar, but looking closer James saw it was more of a makeshift count down to the first of September. No Wizarding child could mistake the relevance of that date. James felt a pang of sadness, knowing that his dad must have been desperately counting the days, perhaps every second, wishing for time to go faster so he could leave the Dursley's once more; to be at Hogwarts - his true home. '_Till now, of course_, James reminded himself.

His dad had a proper home now, a real family, a big one at that. James suddenly wished it was the Christmas holidays instead of the Summer as his family had a huge gathering either at the Burrow or Grimmauld Place. Literally everyone would be there, from Hermione's parents to Aunt Fleur's little sister. It was utter chaos and James simply loved it. He would enjoy blending in with the crowd and catching snatches of people's conversations, and of course, it was the perfect environment for a prank or two.

But most of all he just loved seeing them all together, his dad in the center of it all, beaming as if there was nowhere else in the world he'd rather be. He'd catch his father's eyes and there would always be a tinge of wonderment within those green eyes that James had never fully understood, until now. He saw them now in his mind, he could read them so clearly now, like the pages to a worn and battered book. '_How did I get so lucky?_' they were saying. He turned to see his thirteen-year-old dad put his glasses on his bedside table and lay down for the night facing his cards, a peaceful look on his face as if he was now surrounded by the very same people several Christmases in the future.

* * *

><p><strong>Please review! Shame I didn't reach my 4,800 target but oh well it ended well here. I haven't written in so long! Need to catch up fast and I kind of feel a bit rusty. Hope you liked it none the less! Once again have no idea when the next one will be up but hopefully soon. Happy Halloween every one! R.I.P James and Lily Potter. And thanks for your patience guys!<strong>

EnglandBabe1997, more, Fleur-de-lys, harrypotterlover317 –Thanks so much for the reviews! Also Fleur-de-lys –that is soo cool! Lucky!

Will give a HUGE shout out to everyone who has reviewed, faved, alerted ect at the end. Love you all!


	8. Let's take a peek,

**A/N: Oh my, chapter eight. 100 REVIEWS+! I AM SO HAPPY! THANK YOU, EVERYONE! SO, **_**SO**_** MUCH.**

* * *

><p><em>...several Christmases in the future<em>

In the blink of an eye the scene before him changed, momentary throwing him off-balance. He was once again in the Dursley's (he refused to see his dad as a member of the 'household') kitchen. It was just as blinding, just as clean, just as _depressing _as he remembered_. _He knew it had been at least a year gap, and yet almost _nothing_ had changed - even the same people were sitting in the same chairs. In fact, one of the few things that distinguished this memory from the last was what seemed to be a brand new television, which they were currently watching with a mixture of distaste - and, in Dudley's case, boredom - on their faces. Dudley's chins wobbled as he stuffed his mouth with a constant supply of bacon. The new television set was one thing - however, the absence of his father was another, far more troubling, difference.

This observation began to play on James's mind - his dad _had _to be there. These _were_ his memories, after all. As if on cue, Harry came into the room and sat himself between Vernon and Dudley. Nobody moved or acknowledged his arrival, as though he had never entered. James beat down the irritation rising up in him, instead concentrating on how his dad had a familiar glint in his eyes. One that told him that the last memory he had seen had been last night for his dad. That it was still his thirteenth birthday.

Harry reached across the jam to grab a piece of toast, his preferred breakfast even in James's time, and began to butter it before looking up at the television. The black box emitted the toneless voice of a news reader,

"...the public is warned that Black is armed and ex-" James tensed, his heart missing an entire beat as his mind processed what he had just heard. Realizing that he wouldn't be disturbing anyone he positioned himself so he was standing right in front of the screen. The reporter was shown sat behind his desk, a neutral expression on his face, holding his papers as he informed the public of the hot line set up for any sightings of the man. James paid little attention, his eyes fixated upon the picture in the corner of the screen, that could be none other than Sirius Black. His own namesake… his dad's dead godfather.

"No need to tell us he's no good," Vernon snorted loudly from behind him. "Look at the state of him, the filthy layabout! Look at his hair!"

James bristled at the comment, but he couldn't deny that Sirius looked far from fetching. He supposed it was the typical look of Azkaban inmates - deranged and dirt-caked - but when _had _the picture been taken, though?

Before James could take a closer look, the photo disappeared with a flash and the reporter's droning voice began to sound once again.

"The ministry of Agriculture and Fish-"

Realizing there was no longer any point, James stopped listening, his mind wandering back to all the pictures he had seen of Sirius. There were plenty of them kicking around Grimmauld Place of when he was younger, all the Marauders together: Sirius, his grandfather, Lupin -Teddy's dad - and (as he had heard many call him) the coward - before they had long since been split apart. Sirius had looked youthful and carefree in those pictures, nothing like the man on the screen.

James wasn't entirely shocked. He had seen old wanted posters and newspapers featuring the 'escaped convict' and part of him had wanted to look away. He hadn't been able to match the gaunt features of the man on the poster with the one in his head, when his dad spoke of him late into the night. Regardless of looks, Sirius still remained somewhat of a hero to him.

Snapping him back into the memory, Vernon protested loudly: "Hang on!", as if the newsreader could really hear him and would pay attention to his demand. "You didn't tell us where that maniac's escaped from! What use is that! Lunatic could be coming up the street right now!"

James couldn't help the surge of excitement at the thought. Would he get to see Sirius? He knew that his dad was reunited with his godfather when he was thirteen, at the end of his third year, so maybe not in this memory, but another? Had Sirius been at any of his dad's birthdays? He certainly hoped so. The thought of his own Godfather, Ron, not being at _any_ of his birthdays was an alien idea to him. He just couldn't picture it. He knew that his dad had probably been present at all Teddy's too. James sighed, knowing it was just another reason why his dad was so obsessed with making their birthdays special.

"When will they learn," Vernon continued, pounding the table with his fist, "that hanging is the only way to deal with these people?" James was shocked by this. Not that he had come to expect anything less from Vernon Dursley, but it was still a terrible thing to say - especially when 'these people' _happened_ to be his namesake.

He knew that, of course, Sirius was already dead before he he'd had a chance to clear his name or live to see it happen. But the idea that he could have been killed for a crime he did not commit, because there were narrow-minded people in the world like Vernon, disturbed him.

Wishing Vernon would just shut up, he glanced at his dad, who didn't appear to be listening at all. In fact, he seemed to be looking off into another world all together. James watched him, smiling, knowing that the man his dad had just heard about for the first time was going to play a huge part in his life. That the 'lunatic' his dad's uncle was ranting about was going to help form the name of his first child. James couldn't help but grin madly at that thought - that he was named after a lunatic. It was quite amazing and surreal, standing there with this information in his head, watching a point in which his dad had no idea what lay ahead.

"_Very true,_" Petunia agreed with her husband while peering out the window, as though Sirius was about to leap out of one of the hedges and shout 'Look at me! I'm on the run!'. Vernon drained his tea noisily and checked his watch.

"Better be off in a minute, Petunia, Marge's train gets in at ten."

James, who didn't particularly care who this 'Marge' was, was simply happy that Vernon was leaving the memory. That was, until, Harry looked up with a look of alarm and blurted,

"Aunt Marge?" Wait - _Aunt_? How many aunts did his dad have? "Sh-_she's_ not coming here, is she?" He looked horrified at the very idea, and James frowned, wondering what was so bad about this woman. Was she just like the rest of the Dursleys? Was she just as bad to his dad as them? She must be if his dad had never mentioned _her. _What had this woman done to make his dad have that panicked look about him - a look that was scarcely seen on his face. He guessed he would just have to wait and see if the memory included her. Everything was out of his hands here. There was no 'request box', no sign posts, no tour guide to turn to and ask, 'Erm, sorry, but can I see some _happy_ memories now?'

If he was honest, he hoped this woman wasn't in the memory. To make matters worse Vernon snarled, "Marge will be here for a week".

'_Poor dad_,' James couldn't help but think. It reminded him of the times he was told his Aunt Audrey was coming over. She wasn't a particularly mean person at all, but James had never managed to get along with her. She didn't approve of trouble makers, and with James being, quite proudly, just that, they never were exactly going to see eye to eye. In fact, James had taken it upon himself to irritate her whenever possible.

"We need to get a few things straight before I go and collect her," Vernon continued menacingly, pointing a finger in Harry's direction. James gritted his teeth, trying to keep his cool - something that became even harder as Dudley pried his eyes away from the T.V to watch, as thought seeing Vernon looming over Harry was by far more enjoyable than the show on the screen. James glowered at him, wondering how he could just sit and watch. How could Dudley not understand that what he was watching, with a smirk on his face, was completely and utterly wrong?

"Firstly," - James swayed his attention back to Vernon - "you'll keep a civil tongue in your head when you talk to Marge."

"All right," Harry agreed, bitterness lacing his words, "if she does when she's talking to me."

James allowed a small smile, glad to see his dad wasn't backing down, before a sudden thought struck him. If things continued the way they were in the basin, he would be seeing his dad grow up, bit by bit, year by year. He would be seeing his dad grow into the way he, James, knew him now. People, in his view are made up of memories. Without that past, they were nothing. And now, in a weird way, he was seeing a piece of his dad. He shook his head, not wanting to get too trapped in deep thought and pondering, which was Al's thing after all.

"Secondly," Vernon's voice dragged him back into the memory. "as Marge doesn't know anything about your _abnormality_-" James gritted his teeth tighter but knew he would have to get used to it. "- I don't want any _funny _stuff while she's here. You behave yourself, got me?"

James thought of the pre-Audrey-visit-warnings he had gotten, noting that they were nothing like this. He mum would threaten him, yes, but never in such a malicious way, more in exasperation really. It was either that or his dad's more subtle methods, such as making him feel guilty.

Harry bit out, "I will if she does," and James finally understood the bemused yet understanding looks his dad would give him, when he acted moody over Audrey-visits.

"And thirdly," Vernon growled, eyes narrowed, "we've told Marge you attend St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys."

"Center for - _what_?" James seethed, outraged.

"He's not a damned criminal! If anyone should be in a 'Secure Center' it's you! Treating him like this!" he growled at Vernon's un-hearing purple face. His barely registered his dad's yell of 'What?' alongside his own yelling, but the furious look upon his dad's face was enough to show Harry's disbelief.

"And you'll be sticking to that story, boy, or there'll be trouble," Vernon spat at him. The memory of his dad being dragged up the stairs popped into his mind again and he silently begged his dad to stick to the story, not matter how atrocious the lie was.

Vernon finally turned away from Harry and got up, addressing his wife as he did so, "Well, Petunia, I'll be off to the station, then. Want to come along for the ride, Dudders?"

'Dudders' refused without hesitation, now engrossed in the T.V once more. Petunia had finally come away from the window and began to smooth her son's hair down.

"Duddy's got to make himself smart for his auntie. Mummy's brought him a new bow tie," she simpered.

James ignored her, his eyes fixed on his dad who was sat pale-faced, a slight traumatized look about him.

"See you in a bit then," Vernon called, finally leaving. _I hope not_, James thought keenly. But his hopes were trampled as his dad snapped out of his trance and jumped up suddenly. James watched him in confusion as he followed Vernon. Sighing, James figured he should too and made his way out of the kitchen and out by the front door, where Vernon was putting his coat on, glaring distastefully at Harry.

"I'm not taking you," he snarled. James doubted very much that his dad wanted to go as well and was immediately proved right.

"Like I wanted to come," Harry replied coldly. James flashed his dad a quick grin, much preferring his dad's moody side to his depressed one. "I want to ask you something."

Vernon looked him up and down, eyes full of suspicion and James looked at his dad curiously. What could his dad be possibly asking for? And _now_ of all times? Unless...

"Third years at Hog — at my school are allowed to visit the village sometimes," Harry continued. James couldn't help his smirk. Yes, this was certainly a situation that needed to be taken full advantage off. He cursed himself for not realizing earlier. Though he decided to cut himself a little slack, considering all the things he had seen in the basin so far. His cunning had bound to have been dampened a bit. His dad, however, seemed to have plenty of it.

"So?" Vernon snapped, taking his car keys from a hook next to the door.

"I need you to sign the permission form," Harry told him quickly.

"And why should I do that?" Vernon sneered at him. James couldn't help but think that Vernon would enjoy dangling the form in front of his dad, but he knew his dad was about to turn the tables.

"Well," Harry started, an innocent look upon his face, " - it'll be hard work, pretending to Aunt Marge I go to that St. Whatsits —" James smirked at the deliberate forgetting of the name, but winced as Vernon bellowed right next to his ear,

"St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys!"

Although James could tell from the tinge of panic in Vernon's voice that his dad's plan was working, it didn't stop him from rubbing his ear and shuffling away from Vernon and closer to his dad.

"Exactly," Harry put in calmly. "It's a lot to remember. I'll have to make it sound convincing, won't I? What if I accidentally let something slip?"

"_You'll get the stuffing knocked out of you, won't you_?" Vernon roared, advancing on Harry with his fist raised. James tensed and tried to pull his dad back, but of course, nothing happened. Although Harry seemed unfazed, putting on a grim look as he spoke, James's heart was racing a mile an hour.

"'Knocking the stuffing out of me' won't make Aunt Marge forget what I could tell her."

Vernon stopped advancing at these words, but his fist was still raised. James stayed as close to his dad as he could without falling through him. If he was going to ever stop watching these memories, _now_ would be the time. The saucepan was bad enough, but what if his dad didn't duck this time? What if Vernon's aim was better? He knew his dad was fast, but the entrance to the house was cramped and it would be hard to twist aside. He did _not_ want to see his dad hurt.

"But if you sign my permission form," Harry went on quickly, "I swear I'll remember where I'm supposed to go to school, and I'll act like a Mug — like I'm normal and everything."

James silently willed Vernon to accept this and leave. _To just turn around and leave. _Vernon's teeth were bared, a vein sticking out vividly in his temple, as he thought. James could swear his breathing had stopped - everything had stopped.

"Right," Vernon snapped, and James tensed again, "I shall monitor your behavior carefully during Marge's visit. If, at the end of it, you've toed the line and kept to the story, I'll sign your ruddy form," he finally announced before turning on his heel, opening the front door, and slamming it so hard that one of the little panes of glass at the top fell out.

James stared at the shattered glass on the floor, letting his breath finally flow out. His heart was slowly returning to a normal pace, but it still burned inside his chest. That had been close, far too close. Was it always like this? Had his dad always have to dance around his uncle? Choosing his words wisely all the time? Or was it just now because his dad had been pushing it slightly?

Asking someone to sign a form shouldn't be that hard, that _dangerous_. James glanced at the memory of his dad, not letting him out of his sight as he made his way to the stairs and up them. His dad seemed calm, as if his uncle's threat had not affected him in the slightest. The memory of his dad was acting a lot more like his dad in the present, and he was glad. He really was. It was wonderful that his dad wasn't taking the Dursley's treatment lying down, that he was beginning to rebel.

James finally allowed himself a grin, thinking back on what he had just seen. His dad had turned a bad situation into an opportunity for him, and brilliantly done too. The grin stayed on his face as he entered his dad's old room once again. However, there was something at the back of his mind, a nagging worry that was slowly burning away in him, like a trail of gunpowder just set alight. It was making his grin more forced than it usually was. He knew he should focus on the positive, he always tried to be optimistic, but he couldn't help it.

He watched his dad gather up his presents and cards and place them carefully under a loose floor board. James knew now that when he saw his dad again, back in his own time, he was going to ask. He wanted to know, he _needed_ to know that his dad had never been hurt in that way. His dad hadn't been surprised in the slightest that his uncle was raising a fist to him, and that bothered James.

James closed his eyes, listening to his dad talking to the owls in their cage. The thoughts he'd had upon seeing the very first memory were coming back to him, Vernon's voice echoing in his ears. '_probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured-_" although this suggested such a thing had never happened. James was greeted with the image of his twelve-year-old dad being taken up the stairs of his own home.

What had happened? Did he even want to know? If he was honest, the thought was beginning to scare him more and more with each passing memory. Just because he hadn't seen it, didn't mean it hadn't happened and he still _could_ see it. Just around the corner, in the next memory, or even the next, who knew what he would see?

"Don't look at me like that," his dad's gloomy voice floated back to him, and James managed a week chuckle at the reproachful look the owl had. _I'm __not__ going_ _to live in fear_, James decided determinately. "It's not my fault. It's the only way I'll be allowed to visit Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione."

James sincerely hoped his dad's plan worked. It would be horrible, James reckoned, if he had to stay behind while Fred, Lucas and Louis got to go to the village. It was excruciating to think of all the things he would miss out on. Of course, he could just sneak in, but it then he wouldn't be able to rub it in his cousin's and sibling's faces that he got to go and they had to wait. He imagined them doing that to him, laughing that he couldn't go even though he was in third year.

Reluctantly with a note that his dad quickly scribbled out, the owls took flight through the open window as Harry sighed deeply, glancing at the clock with great trepidation. James groaned along with his dad as Petunia suddenly shrieked up the stairs for Harry to come down and get ready.

He followed his dad back down the stairs, wishing that somehow the memory form of his dad could know that he was there, that he wasn't the only one who had to put up with the visit.

"Do something about your hair!" Petunia snapped as soon as Harry reached the hall. James couldn't help but laugh a little as his dad made no move to do so. James ruffled up his own raven black hair, making sure it was even messier that before. Seconds passed, and soon the sound of wheels turning on gravel was heard. There was a clunk of car door's and James found a great amount of apprehension build up in him, as Petunia hissed at his dad to get the door. Harry did so reluctantly, blocking James's view.

"Where's my Dudders?" a strong, almost masculine voice that could only belong to Vernon's sister rumbled. "Where's my neffy poo?" she cried, and James cringed, already liking Audrey's visits better. As if on cue, Dudley came in to view and James had to do a double take. Dudley was wearing a stiff bow tie that was just barely visible. His thick blond hear sleeked down and plastered to his head. _Thank Merlin we don't have to dress up when Aunts come round_, James muttered mentally. It would be a waste of time, anyway, considering how many they had, and that all his family were constantly popping in and out of each other's houses.

Marge finally came into view as she picked up her enormous suitcase and thrust it into Harry's stomach, making him stagger back a bit. It was then settled, James did not like this woman - _at all_. He'd only seen her for three seconds and she was already up there on his list of people he really hated. And that list was _very_ short. He wondered how much longer it would be by the time the memories were over if things carried on like this.

He was left in no doubt, even if her voice was the give-a-way, that she was related to Vernon. She, like him, was rather on the large side, beefy, purple-faced and - James squinted wondering whether he imagined it or not - seemed to have a mustache as well. The thing he noticed most though, was the familiar menacing glint in her eye that did not bode well.

He decided then to look at her a little as possible as she hugged Dudley tightly with one arm, turned to Petunia- crying "Petunia!"- and did what James supposed was a kiss on the cheek, but seemed more like a head-butt. He couldn't, however, help notice the note in Dudley's hand as Marge had pulled away. He vaguely recognized it as Muggle money. His dad had tried, and failed, to teach him how to use it. It just made no sense to him. Why use paper, anyway, when it could get wet so easily? Due to his lack of Muggle-money understanding, he didn't know how much Dudley had, but he could bet it was a lot.

Vernon came back in, closing the door and grinning cheerfully. The sight did nothing but depress James.

"Tea Marge?" he asked, "And what will Ripper take?"

_Ripper?_ James wondered bewildered, before finally noticing, and jumping upon sight of, the small and battle-worn bulldog by the door. The dog seemed to glower in his direction and James glared right back. James was particularly fond of dogs, always had been, but he did not like to look of this 'Ripper', nor did he like the weary look his dad was giving the dog, as if there was bad history between the two.

"Ripper can have some tea out of my saucer," Marge replied, leading the adults out of the hallway and into the kitchen, the dog trailing behind them. James was left with his dad who was still clutching the suitcase. He looked relieved, but at the same time, he sighed as if to say 'It's going to be a _long_ week'.

Harry began to heave the case, which was almost _taller_ than him, up the stairs taking (James noticed with a hint of amusement) as much time as possible before, just as slowly, making his way back down again, having dropped it off in what James guessed to be a guest room of sorts. He trudged after his dad into the kitchen, wondering how his dad put up with it all.

In the kitchen, Marge was tucking in to a large slice of fruit cake as Petunia placed her tea next to her plate and sat herself down. None of them noticed, or simply didn't care, Harry standing there, an impassive look upon his face.

"Who's looking after the other dogs, Marge?" Vernon asked, cutting up his own fruit cake.

"Oh, I've got Colonel Fubster managing them," boomed Marge. Colonel-_Who? _James wondered, before remembering he didn't care. "He's retired now, good for him to have something to do. But I couldn't leave poor old Ripper. He pines if he's away from me."

James glanced at Ripper, who was drooling all over the floor and he smirked, thinking that if the dog could ruin the cleanliness of the place a little, he wasn't all bad. Any good standing the dog had managed in James's book vanished as it growled when Harry took a seat. Marge snapped her attention to Harry and barked, "So! Still here, are you?"

"Unfortunately - as you can see," James muttered, rolling his eyes at the last, as his dad simply replied with a yes.

"Don't you say 'yes' in that ungrateful tone," Marge growled, and James raised an eyebrow. What tone was he _supposed_ to use? A cheerful one? "It's damn good of Vernon and Petunia to keep you. Wouldn't have done it myself. You'd have gone straight to an orphanage if you'd been dumped on _my_ doorstep."

James, who was immensely glad that his dad hadn't been left on _her_ doorstep, wondered if his dad would have been better off in an orphanage. At least _someone_ there might have cared for him at least. Harry bit back words that James knew he was yearning to say, and smiled instead. Marge, however, didn't seem to appreciate his efforts.

"Don't you smirk at me!" she shouted it her booming voice, "I can see you haven't improved since I last saw you. I hoped school would knock some manners into you." She took a large gulp of tea, wiped her mustache clad mouth, and turned to Vernon, "Where is it that you send him, again, Vernon?"

"St. Brutus's," Vernon answered promptly. "It's a first-rate institution for hopeless cases."

"My dad is _not_ hopeless," James mumbled under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I see," Marge said, digesting the information, before barking across the table to Harry, "Do they use the cane at St. Brutus's, boy?"

James's arms fell to his sides, his eyes trained on his dad. _Why the hell would she want to know that?, _he fumed.

"Er- yes" Harry replied. James followed his gaze and saw Vernon nodding at him. "All the time," Harry added. James glared at Vernon and reminded himself of the wonderful school his dad really had gone to.

"Excellent," Marge approved. James gaped at her. What kind of sick family was this? It most certainly was not 'excellent' in any way shape of form. "I won't have this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it. A good thrashing is what's needed in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred."

James shook his head, feeling nauseated. This was wrong, so very, _very_ wrong.

"Have _you_ been beaten often?" she asked.

James felt as if he was the one who had, had a suitcase slammed into him. He slowly turned to look at his dad, trying to read his reaction.

"Oh, yeah," Harry answered casually, "loads of times." James flinched involuntarily. He closed his eyes pinching the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. His dad could have reacted completely differently, he reminded himself - but if he was being indifferent about it...

"I still don't like your tone, boy," she continued, eyes narrowed. "If you can speak of your beatings in that casual way, they clearly aren't hitting you hard enough.", James's whole body shock with rage at the words, as they one by one came spilling out of her foul mouth, "Petunia, I'd write if I were you. Make it clear that you approve the use of extreme force in this boy's case."

His cheeks were flushed with anger at someone being so _eager_ of the idea of his dad being hurt. He dreaded it, every single damn time his dad left for work he worried about his dad getting hurt, and here this - this _woman_ was _encouraging_ it! _Requesting_ it. He couldn't stand it.

As if sensing danger, Vernon abruptly changed the subject, "Heard the news this morning, Marge? What about -" _James opened his eyes, wondering why Vernon had suddenly stopped talking, but quickly closed them again as the only thing that met his eyes was a blinding light, and nothing more._

* * *

><p><strong>Don't worry folks! He's not dead But that is it, it's all over and done now-for that year at least. Fourteenth birthday next! Sorry to those who wanted me to go further, but I will only be doing Birthdays, hence the title...Birthdays.<strong>

**Okay usual boring stuff: Annon Reviews- I will get back to you on my profile, if I miss replying to anyone, anon or not, I'm really sorry. Thanks everyone who did my poll, it's still on my Profile so check it out, another HUGE thanks to Drammy, whose being plain awesome as always (someone give her a medal). Another chap of CWT should be up soon then I'll get back to WAYTTH? **

**A chap will be dedicated to the 123 reviewer. If I ever get that many that is. **

**Please, Please tell me what you think, it's the only way I can improve. And I just like them :-)**

**I feel like I've forgotten something. Ah well, sorry if I have, I'm exhausted. Have a nice day! Laters! -Ami x**


	9. Where shall we start?

**A/N: Hello again! Wow it has been ages hasn't it? Well, this is the 3rd****time I've written this damnable chapter and I'm just glad to have it out the way and move on. I'm disappointed by how short it is but it was bound to be.**

**Don't know if you remember me saying about the 123 review getting a dedication but I am a woman of my word.****This is dedicated to**

**xXxHalfBlood PrincessxXx**

**Thank you to everyone else that has reviewed! You're the only reason I made it to version number 3.**

**Most importantly, HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY and JKR!**

* * *

><p><em>...a blinding light, and nothing more.<em>

It was such a sudden change from the dim kitchen that James nearly staggered back. While his eyes took the time to adjust to the brightly lit room he shook off his fury at the words of Marge Dursley, knowing it wouldn't help him. Laughter filled the room and James blinked in confusion as he realised that once again, it was his dad's old bedroom. He'd never seen the room filled with such light: in fact, the last time he had been in it, it had been lit only by moonlight.

What really surprised him was that his dad, probably fourteen now - his hair far longer than he ever kept it now - was sprawled on his bed, laughing his head off. He wasn't surprised that his dad was laughing; he had, of course, seen his dad do so thousands of times, it was that Harry would ever look so joyous in a place filled with the people he had seen no more that a second ago. If he could call them people, that is.

Harry sat up, still chuckling to himself and turned the page of a book he had been reading. James raised his eyebrows at that. As far as he was concerned, there was no way a book could be _that_ amusing. And, as far as he could remember, his dad wasn't exactly an avid reader.

Harry read in silence for awhile before bursting out into another round of hilarity. James smiled bemusedly at his dad, glad to see him so cheerful, but there was a tingle of apprehension in him that he couldn't extinguish. How was it, exactly, that his dad was getting away with making so much noise? If his dad's bedroom light was on then it couldn't be morning or afternoon. Were the others asleep? Or were they out? James didn't know whether to be happy or not at the idea of the Dursley leaving his dad home alone.

As if to answer all his questions the door was flung open and Harry nearly fell off the bed in surprise. James inwardly groaned at the sight of a furious Vernon looming in the doorway, a slight tick developing in his left eye.

"What the devil do you think you're playing at? Light on at this time off night, making that racket!"

"Oh hello," Harry sat up on the bed and righted his glasses. James gaped at him; he was acting like an irate Vernon Dursley hadn't just burst into his room. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes, there _is_ a bloody problem! You're keeping us up! Your aunt is furious! Have you _seen_ the time?"

Harry merely blinked at him as if he couldn't see how this was, then leant back so he could see the alarm clock on his desk that was currently flashing 11:58.

"Oh wow, is that really the time? It's pretty late, isn't it?" He continued conversationally. A vein jumped in Vernon's head, and his hands twitched as if he was restraining the urge to strangle. James glanced from Vernon to his dad, who hadn't seemed to notice the state Vernon was getting himself into.

"I'll just finish off my letter," Harry continued in the same pleasant tone, "and then turn my light off." Without waiting for Vernon to respond Harry put the book down and pulled a piece of parchment towards him. He then reached over to his bedside table and plucked a quill from out of his inkwell and began to write. It was then that James noticed that since he had last stood there, the room had changed.

Not much had really changed in what he imagined to be a year, but there was a significant difference that made his heart soar as he scanned the room. There was more parchment on his dad's desk, some crumpled, some rolled up into scrolls. '_Quidditch through the ages_' was lying on one squashed roll as if it had been casually flung there. At the bottom of his dad's old bed there was a large black wooden trunk that lay open, showing a pile of books, a cauldron, even a broomstick peeking out and black robes escaping over the sides.

James had never seen his dad's Wizarding stuff in any of the memories, save presents and the picture on the desk. He wondered what had changed. Harry began to mutter as he wrote: "...being annoying...fruit bats not creative enough…" He then paused and looked up at Vernon, scrutinizing him, as if trying to size him up. He cocked his head to the side as though in deep thought, then, making his mind up went back to his parchment. Vernon was staring at the parchment as if it was about to burst into flame, his face slowly paling.

"...penguins more amusing..." Vernon seemed to gulp at this. Harry paused then went to write again before Vernon spoke up, his moustache quivering.

"Forget- forget what I said. It doesn't bother me at all." Harry looked up again appearing innocently puzzled.

"Oh, are you sure?" he inquired politely. "I really don't mind, I'll turn it off now."

"No- no" Vernon gave a very forced smile that looked almost painful for him. "Carry on."

"Well, if you're sure…" Harry crossed the lines he had just written out, not even looking at the parchment. Vernon seemed to sigh with relief and left as quickly as possible. James stared at his dad, completely befuddled. What on earth had just happened?

A wicked grin slowly spread across his dad's face, as he lent back on the bed again and picked up the book. He flicked back to the page he was on and James was sure he had whispered something that had sounded distinctly like 'Thanks Sirius'.

James snickered to himself, finally cottoning on. The Dursleys, he knew for sure, had heard of Sirius. He laughed out loud at the idea of his dad telling them that the same 'mass murder' they had seen on the T.V was their nephew's Godfather. Judging by what he had just seen his dad had left out the whole 'being completely innocent' thing. But then again, James liked to think that Sirius would have come and turn the Dursleys into any animal of choice, mass murder or not, if he knew what was going on.

Come to think of it, had his dad told anyone? Did his mother know that her husband had nearly had his head done in by a frying pan courtesy of his own aunt? Did Ron and Hermione know their best friend - or brother, more like - had been locked up in his room? Threatened? Taunted? Maybe they did, maybe they didn't - they weren't exactly going to tell _him_if they did know. But surely they did. If their faces were anything to judge by when the Dursley were even mentioned they must know _some_ of it.

This idea comforted him a little. He may not know the extent of what had happened to his dad but at least he knew that his father had plenty of people there for him. But, James couldn't help but dread, would his dad really tell anyone? It wasn't really within Harry's nature to let _anyone_ worry about him. James knew that if his worst fears were true about his dad's time with these 'relatives' then it was hidden deep, _deep_ beneath the surface. In some very dark corner of the mind somewhere, never to be dwelt on, or perhaps stored in the depths of a glowing basin.

James shivered a little and decided to look around more to keep the dark thoughts at bay. He wanted to enjoy the sight of the Wizarding objects before the Dursleys changed their minds. James felt a sudden pang of pain, as if a pebble had been dropped into his stomach. What would happen when Sirius was gone? When he was no longer there to scare the Dursleys? James shook his head, knowing that his dad would be sixteen by then. One more year after that, and he would never have to set foot in this rotten place again. James smiled to himself, hoping he would get to see his dad leave. He felt he deserved to watch his dad's back out the door after all he'd seen.

The smile then fell from his lips, his brow set in a confused frown. Why of all things would his dad have a _cat flap_ on his door? Did his dad have a cat? He could have, after all James had never known that his dad had had an owl let alone a cat. But why have a cat when he doubted the owl would approve, and his dad _did_ seem _very_ fond of his owl. Too fond to let a cat, if it belonged to him or not, near it. James glanced at his dad as if he was going to provide the answer but all he got was silence as Harry turned another page.

He glanced at the flap again, a disturbing thought worming itself into his mind_. I've got news for you boy...I'm locking you up..._He was now staring at the door so intensely it began to blur, the red flap becoming nothing but a blob. James blinked rapidly. _I'm locking you up..._He shook his head, trying to clear it of the haunting echoes.

James forced himself to look at his teenage dad, and not at the door; forced himself to look at something familiar: his dad that was smiling and that was, right now, the only thing that was keeping his grip on reality, stopping him from dropping to the floor in a spiralling mass of anger and misery.

He told himself that it was going to get better. That his dad was fourteen now and didn't have to put up with crap from the Dursleys anymore. But then again, being fourteen meant by the end of this year, and the beginning of the next, the war would have started, and his dad would be right in the middle of it.

A familiar tap of talons on the window broke his turbulent thoughts. James sighed in relief at the distraction as Harry jumped up from the bed and quickly turned the light off. They were plunged into darkness before streams of moonlight ripped apart the fabric of night, shining into his eyes.

Harry flung open the window and stepped neatly to the side as four birds flew in as one. James barely noticed the owls, his gaze captured by the vividly coloured tropical bird. It flew over to the bed grandly, dropping a large square box and a letter on the bed. He managed to take his eyes off the bird long enough to notice that owls too had similar looking boxes.

Harry swiftly relieved each owl of their parcels. A tawny, just like last year, took off straight away, but his dad's snowy white flew into her cage. Harry helped what James remembered to be Ron's owl into her cage as well, before sitting down on the bed beside the magnificent newcomer.

James wondered why his dad looked so happy at the sight of the bird.

"Are you thirsty?" Harry asked the bird, smoothing down its feathers. The bird hopped over to the cage in the corner, making the owl squawk almost indignantly. James chuckled noticing the way she was glaring at the intruder.

"Be nice, Hedwig." James turned to look at his dad, stupidly wondering who he was talking to before it clicked. So _that_ was the bird's name. Trust his dad to come up with something like that. Harry pulled one of the square boxes towards him, shaking his head fondly. Hedwig reluctantly let the bird drink before it took off out the window. James couldn't help but feel disappointed at its departure. He'd love a cool bird like that, but he doubted very much that he'd find one in _Eeylops Owl Emporium_or _Magical Menagerie._

"Brilliant!" His dad cried suddenly. James leaned over to look inside the box, wondering what had gotten his dad's attention, and smiled. Inside was a round chocolate cake with 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY!' on it. Harry took a swirl of the smooth chocolate topping on his finger and popped it in his mouth. James watched jealously as he put the cake aside and opened another box, then another and finally he had four cakes of different sizes and toppings. James clutched his stomach hungrily.

"Four birthday cakes! Merlin, Dad!" James whistled softly, impressed. His stomach growled in protest but he really couldn't be happier. It was the very least his dad deserved, thought his delight didn't stop him from being glad the cakes were put under the bed to eat later - he didn't think he could take watching his dad devour them.

He looked on at the memory, watching his dad read through his letters and put up his cards in a line on his desk, grinning madly the whole time. It was about time he'd seen a fully pleasant memory, James mused (apart from Vernon's appearance, of course, but then again, any appearance from him was enough to tarnish any memory, no matter how cheerful). He was beginning to think that his dad didn't have any happy birthdays till adulthood. He was, for once, quite content to be wrong.

Harry stood up and closed the window with a thump and pulled the curtains, plunging them into darkness. James heard him getting into bed and imagined him putting his glasses beside his cards like he had done the year before. Silence filled the room, broken only by the steady rhythm of breathing that lulled the fourteen year old into the land of sleep.

"Goodnight dad," James whispered. He felt a calm settle over him, surrounded by the comforting blanket of night as he waited for the next memory to come; to wash onto him like the next tide coming up the beach, but when it washed ashore, it brought something unexpected, something that set his teeth on edge; a piercing, _echoing,_ ice-cold voice from out the blackness, barely a whisper on the lingering wind: '_Kill the spare.'_

* * *

><p><strong>Let me know what you think! I'm hoping things will go smother with the next chapter. And that there will be a shorter wait. You know how to encorage me! ;-) Annon reviews should be replyed to on my profile. HUGE thanks to Drammy who did her fastest betering yet! Got to love that girl. Well see you around. -Ami x<strong>_  
><em>


	10. Each leaf, a warn and battered page,

**A/N: Hello again! So that 'short wait' I was hoping for didn't go er...quite according to plan. Um... *Gives you the chapter and backs away slowly***

**Dedicated to Daziy is SoniQ, who was, as she eagerly pointed out, my 200th review!**

* * *

><p><em>...a whisper on the lingering wind: 'Kill the spare.'<em>

James stood there, paralyzed in the darkness as though devil's snare had wrapped around him without him noticing. He felt that he was in the very same spot, certain that he had not moved at all, and yet - if the current pattern was to be relied upon - it must be a year later –another birthday. Had he imagined that voice? Had these memories finally made him lose the plot? As if to answer him, he heard yet another voice,

"No, _don't_-" its tone held no ice, no _malice, _yet the desperate plea pierced his soul in much the same way. "Not Cedric-" James stared at where he could just about see the outline of his dad's sleeping figure. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as apprehension turned his blood cold. _Cedric_. Cedric Diggory? He could not fail to know that name. Not when it was the very first thing he had learnt about the war in History of Magic. Before he had started tuning out of the lessons, that name was engraved somewhere in his mind as if it were just another plaque at the very top of another war memorial. But why would his dad be murmuring Cedric's name, in his sleep no less? And what of the other voice, a voice so cruel and callous that it could never belong to his father?

Was there another person in the room? Before this idea could panic him he was distracted by his dad calling out, voice high and fearful: "Don't kill Cedric!"

James made to step forward - more out of instinct than anything - but resigned to the fact that there was nothing he could do. He had learned the hard way there was nothing he could do to help or comfort his dad in these memories. His arms wrapped around himself helplessly. It was all he could do to protect himself from the morbid idea that his dad had potentially played witness to Cedric's death.

James nearly jumped out of his skin as Harry tossed suddenly and violently; the blankets were flung off harshly into a heap at his feet. The bed creaked loudly in protest.

_Bone of the father, unknowingly taken..._ James clutched his heart and frantically looked around. He thought wildly that the speaker was lurking somewhere in the shadows, circling them, determined to scare him to death. _Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken..._ the alarming words reverberated around the walls and his fingers tightened as if trying to rip into his chest, to reach his frantic heart to stroke and soothe it. _Calm_, _James_,_ be_ _calm_.

This was a memory of his dad having a dream on his birthday, he reasoned logically -something that didn't come naturally to him – trying desperately to make sense of the situation he had found himself in. However, there seemed to be a lingering ghost of another memory. Something seeping through the cracks of the one he was witnessing. Whatever it was his dad was dreaming about - a death, some sort of sick ritual - it had _happened_. His dad was dreaming about it, and that dream was contaminating the memory in which James now stood. He could hear his dad shaking, muttering to himself feverishly. The temperature seemed to have dropped several degrees. If he closed his eyes he would have sworn that they were outside. He could practically feel wind rushing past him, an icy breeze slapping at his face. The chill seemed to be taunting him, laughing at them.

"It's going to be okay," he found himself saying, taking himself by surprise, forgetting to feel foolish for talking to someone who could not hear him. "It's just a dream." He knew that for his dad it was not just a dream but he felt the need to say something, to _do_ something to push away this powerless feeling, to drown out the cruel whispers. "Just wake up, you're safe here."

James bit his lip. His dad wasn't really safe here at all. As if to accentuate his thoughts, the very walls themselves seemed to whisper mockingly, _Bow to death, Harry..._

James shivered, as though he had been carelessly shoved head first into a freezer, but there was a spark of anger inside him, anger that the owner of the voice had made his dad suffer. Was it _him_? Volderm- _no_ -Tom Riddle. He would be known by his _real_ name. James would not be scared of Riddle's name _or_ voice, he decided firmly, but his new resolve quickly evaporated as, to his horror, his dad began to thrash wildly, screaming out - "Dad! Help me!"

James looked towards the door, for a second expecting it to burst open. For a black-haired man in his pajamas, glasses askew, to rush in. He knew it wasn't going to happen. Harry didn't have a father, not anymore. But James was used to the idea, the idea of a father being there when you needed him. The door stayed firmly closed; there was no running feet, no sound of anyone stirring in the other rooms and James felt his bitter fury rising again. Why was no one coming? Could they not hear his yelling?

"_Dad_! He's going to kill me, Dad!" Harry's legs were flailing madly as though desperate to run. His arm was outstretched, reaching out for something or someone James could not see. _How could they just leave him there?_, his thoughts raged, _they're supposed to be family. _James felt hot tears prick at the corner of his eyes. Their warmth seemed to melt his frozen state for he rushed forward, kneeling beside the bed, "Wake up, its okay, just wake up." He had long ago realised that he was just repeating what his dad had used to murmur to him, when he had his own nightmares. As if James's plea had gotten through to him, Harry sat bolt upright, one hand clutching the edge of the bed, the other his heart, as he gasped for breath.

James watched on worriedly as his dad's hunched over figure regained a steady breathing pace. Harry then swung his legs over the edge of the bed and James quickly stood up again. Both of them were still shaking. James brushed at his eyes furiously, not that he could _entirely_ blame himself for nearly going to pieces. He just hoped that the nightmarish voices would stay at bay now that his dad was awake. He glanced back at his dad, who had stood slowly. Harry pulled at the curtains before flinging the window open.

The first thing that struck him (once his eyes had drunk in the familiar moon light) was that his dad was a lot taller than he had been in the previous memory. This gave James a glimmer of hope. He'd been praying for a growth spurt for what seemed like ages now. At least he wasn't as bad as Albus, who he teased relentlessly for being shorter than even some of the students in the years _below_ him. James frowned at the baggy pajamas that had defied Harry's sudden growth by continuing to hang off him. He couldn't for a second imagine his dad wearing such clothing in his time.

He couldn't picture his dad wearing anything fancy or designer either. He'd seen him dressed up for formal occasions and parties of course but even then his attire was kept simple. His dad was like that with a lot of things though, despite how much money their family possessed. In fact, James was sure the only thing Harry 'splashed out on' was Quidditch equipment (though he never brought anything other than a Firebolt) and presents for others. James decided to push these ponderings aside, not wanting to dwell on the origin of his dad's habits. Instead, he looked about the room, taking satisfaction in seeing his dad's wizarding things still scattered around in much the same way. In fact, if it wasn't for his dad's slight change in appearance he would have sworn there had been no drastic advance in time.

Just like before he witnessed the customary arrival of the usual owls, though he was sad to note, no tropical bird of any kind was among them, and to note that there was one less card and present than last time. There were three cards, one small rectangle and two square-shaped presents which were the exact same size. This turned out to be because they were both boxes of _Honeydukes chocolates._

To James's surprise, Harry didn't look particular delighted by the presents. (How could he not be happy with _chocolate_? Ones that looked pretty expensive too.) In fact, he quickly set them aside and was quickly opening Ron's card. This too seemed to disappoint him, as he put it on the desk and turned without comment or smile to Hermione's card.

James stood there, baffled by such behaviour. It was a startling contrast to his dad's thirteenth birthday. There was no huge grin, no trembling hand, no handling of the presents as though they were fragile. He watched as Harry read the card several times as if trying to find some sort of hidden message. If that was the case he certainly didn't find one.

If James had been shocked by the haunting whispers or his dad's sudden ungratefulness, it was nothing on what happened next.

He stated anxiously at his dad's stony face. He could almost hear the tense ticking in the background..._three_...his dad's eyes slowly grew dark..._two_...his hands curled tightly around the unarmed card..._one_... Harry leaped up, the card falling crumpled to the floor, and snatched up a box of chocolate which he flung savagely across the room, knocking over the bin in the corner. James shrunk back against such visible rage as Harry let out a frustrated cry that was more of a growl and rounded on his unguarded cupboard door with a furious kick. He then flung himself back onto the bed, where he sat with his head in his hands breathing heavily. His hands thrust their way into his hair and he muttered darkly to himself. In the corner Hedwig gave a squawk that made him look up.

"What?" he snapped harshly. As soon as the words were out his mouth he looked regretful. His expression slowly softened and he stood, looking less tense. He approached Hedwig, speaking tenderly.

"I'm sorry Hedwig." The owl looked at him reproachfully with her wide yellow eyes and nipped his finger when he tried to stroke her.

"I'm sorry," he repeated earnestly, sighing deeply. "I really am. It's just...I'm just so..." he couldn't seem to find the right words to put his feelings into. Hedwig just stared at him. To James, it looked as though she was telling him to go on. "It's like they don't even trust me," he said instead, wandering back over to the bed. "Or maybe they think I'm _fragile_. Or irresponsible." His head was in his hands again and James thought he saw him rubbing his scar as though it irritated him.

"They think I can't take care of myself. Well, I bloody can." And with that, he dipped down, retrieved his covers and flung them over him.

* * *

><p>The moonlight shimmered and liquefied, the memory shifted. Once it became still again the room was teeming with morning sunshine. Harry stood in the doorway of his bedroom dressed in upturned jeans and a plain red T-shirt, two sizes too big for him. James stared at him, wishing more than ever that he could communicate with the memory of his dad. He could ask Harry who it was that supposedly didn't trust him. It couldn't be Ron and Hermione because the three of them trusted each other with everything and James couldn't see this being any different in the past.<p>

Harry tossed a newspaper (the pictures were moving, so James guessed it was the _Daily Profit_) on to the bed. He left the room with a look of exasperation and disgust. James wondered what it was about. The war? The Ministry? He could only guess. He followed his dad down the stairs in the hopes of some answers. He doubted he would get any though. These memories seemed to bring nothing but more questions. He felt like he'd gone to see a muggle movie with a weak bladder and kept missing all the important scenes to nip to the loo. He decided all he could do was store the questions, that couldn't be dismissed as teenage angst and pessimism, in the back of his mind.

A loud burst of laughter met his ears at the bottom of the stairs. Both he and his dad looked towards the source of the sound: the kitchen. James shrugged indifferently; nothing the Dursley's could find funny would interest him. He turned back to his dad and frowned. There was an almost wistful look upon his dad's face. For a moment James thought his dad was going to go join them, but the moment past. Harry's face became blank again. He picked up his ragged trainers and put them on, turning his back on the kitchen door.

Harry was about to reach out for the front door when the Kitchen door opened. They both turned to see Dudley standing there with a bowl in his hand. James was startled by the change in Dudley's appearance. He was still as big as ever but he seemed more in shape, with the muscular arm's he had come to identify Dudley with. He looked a lot more like the adult James knew now. It turned out that this was only in body and not personality as Dudley grunted:

"Where are _you_ going?"

"Like you care," Harry replied coolly, pulling the door open.

"You haven't had breakfast." Dudley commented suddenly. Harry stared at him.

"What's that to you?"

"You can have some of mine."

James blinked in surprise at the comment. Maybe he had judged too soon. _Or not._

Dudley picked a stick of celery from out his bowl and flung it at his cousin. Harry caught it easily, popped it in his mouth and, in true teenage fashion, slammed the door behind him.

To James's relief he found himself able to walk through the very solid-looking door and out into the front garden. He had to hurry to catch up with his dad, the house behind him already fading away into nothingness. Harry was walking very fast, his hands deep in his pockets. He didn't look at any of the neighbours he passed, either on the street or lounging in their suburban gardens. James did though and he caught the dirty looks his dad was getting, as though he was a slug that had crept into a well made salad and disturbed the dinner guests. James glared back at them. They made no comments and turned their noses away.

James tagged along after his dad, getting more and more baffled by his behaviour. He'd seen his dad pull a muggle news paper from a bin (startling a nearby cat in the process) and scan it from page to page. Then he'd wandered up and down the newspaper isle in the news agents, looking at all the front pages, till he was shooed out by a harassed looking woman. Then he'd listened in at an open window to a man's blaring radio. An experience that he learnt nothing from (except that the radio presenter had a crush on Mariah Carey), and got an apple and a curse hurled at him for his efforts.

In between scavenging news he seemed to wander around aimlessly and moodily. It wasn't until they had passed the same park for the third time (James noticed the swings had mysteriously broken themselves since their last passing) that Harry made his way back to the Dursleys. James watched him walk down the street that began to fade, along with the rest of the memory.

* * *

><p><strong>Couple of notes on this chapter:<strong>

**I know that 'Bone of the father' etc was Wormtail's voice but James does not know enough about the two of them or the situation to really distinguish between the two voices, if that makes any sense at all. **

**Hope the chapter made sense. With the whole ghost-of-another-memory-thing. The pensive is a pretty complex thing when you really think about it I guess. It's got Harry's thoughts in there too. I know some of you want me to do other scenes from outside his birthdays. This was as close as I could get it for you, without showing him a non-birthday scene.**

**I can tell you that I aim to have 16 chapters and an Epilogue. Don't hold your breath for the next chapter, I wouldn't want you passing out. I've finally go time to write now though so the wait will be a lot shorter than a year!**

_**Okay and for those who got me to 200 (!), favourited, put on alert or simply just didn't kill me, I shall leave you with, Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you...**_


End file.
